As Certain Dark Things Are to be Loved
by Strange Soulmates
Summary: Tom was Harry's best friend growing up and his first love. At eight, Harry gave Tom his first kiss before moving away. As a freshman in college, the name of the RA on the door across the hall is terribly familiar. Non-magic College AU.
1. Chapter 1

**I've had this posted on AO3 for awhile, but it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to post it here as well.** **Still working on More Precious than Rubies, but RL is kind of rough atm. This college AU is like the fic equivalent of comfort food, so this is what I've been working on instead. There's at least 10k more where this came from if people are interested.**

 **This fic has no real plot and would probably be posted in non-chronological order if people are interested. It is really just self-indulgent all-but-established tomarry fic. The imaginary college is American, b/c I am too lazy to do that much research for something meant to to be be purely for my own enjoyment.**

 **Title comes from Pablo Neruda's Sonnett XVII**

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Harry Potter paused gratefully at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall breathing heavily as shifting the weight in his arms so that he could reach up and try and wipe the sweat off his forehead. Perhaps binging up the heaviest bin first hadn't been the best approach after all. Still, he was committed now, and once he actually knew where his room was, the trip wouldn't be such an arduous task. And it wasn't as if he had much to move. Living with the Dursleys hadn't given him the opportunity to accumulate many possessions he'd want to keep in the first place.

The few things he did posses were gifts from his friends and fugitive godfather, along with a handful of precious heirlooms that had been left to him by his parents.

Perhaps, now that he had access to the money his parents had left him (which had come as an immense surprise), he could see about maybe getting himself some more things. Still, now that he actually _had_ money, he found himself reluctant to spend it. Harry was used to going without. And after Sirius' graduation gift of a new wardrobe, there really wasn't anything Harry felt a great need to have.

It certainly made moving a great deal easier, at any rate, Harry couldn't help thinking with a wry twist of his mouth. The dorm room he was assigned was on the third floor of the building, and while there was an elevator, Harry didn't see the point of fighting with all the other people trying to move in for its use. It wasn't as if he was unused to manual labor.

And for all that hauling this bin had taken much more out of him than he had anticipated, there was only two more bins and the chest containing the few things his parents had left him.

Three more trips wouldn't kill him. It would be unpleasant, yes, but nothing he couldn't handle by himself. But now, he thought pushing himself off the wall, it was time to figure out where exactly he was going.

Room 317, the harassed looking RA manning the check-in desk had told him as he passed him his key. A quick look around let Harry know the numbers decreased to his right and increased to his left. Given that the closest room was 303, he took a turn to the left and made his way around the corner to a longer stretch of hallway. The dorm, it seemed, was U-shaped, with one long central hallway and two short wings. Keeping an eye on the room numbers, it became clear that in the future, the other stairwell would probably suit him better.

315...316...Harry's eyes slid to across the hall, trying to get a sense of his neighbors.

The name on the door directly across from his own had him dropping the bin where he stood, uncaring when it landed on his feet. On the door hung a small black plaque, the words "RESIDENT ASSISTANT" printed on it in simple white typeface. And just above that, on a white piece of cardstock, written in immaculate black handwriting was a name.

"Tom Riddle."

It couldn't be the same boy, Harry told himself, trying to talk his heart out of beating in his ears. It was a very common name, after all. That had been one of Tom's greatest issues with his name growing up.

The odds of this Tom being his Tom were astronomically slim.

But, a traitorous little corner of his heart whispered, what if it is him?

Harry recalled the last time they had seen each other, the way Tom's lips had felt pressed against his own, as fleeting as the moment had been. The last expression Harry had ever seen on Tom's face was one he'd never seen before - complete and total shock. He still savored it to this day.

What would Tom look like now, he wondered. He'd been an attractive boy. He always had. It wasn't what had made him fall in love with Tom, but it certainly hadn't hurt. And it had been love. Of that, Harry was certain. Not the puppy-dog sort, but something deeper, more abiding. Why else would thinking of him still hurt so much?

Ten years now, since he'd last seen him. Harry's first kiss had been the last time he'd seen his first and best friend. He'd be twenty years old now.

Tom wasn't like other people. That much had been obvious. Harry couldn't help but wonder how that would have changed as he grew.

"Excuse me," a voice said in a very familiar tone, jerking Harry roughly out of his thoughts. "But you're blocking the hall."

Heart beat reverberating through his chest, he turned.

"Tom?" he asked, terrified of the answer. "Tom Riddle?"

The man behind him was handsome. Ridiculously so. Aristocratic features, sharp cheekbones, and grey eyes that were boring sharply into Harry's own. Blood rushed through his veins, and his mouth went dry.

Tom. His Tom, all grown up. And he had grown up very well indeed.

That same expression of shock, the last expression he'd ever seen his best friend make, was on his face again.

"Harry?" Tom asked, his voice full of disbelieving hope. "Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded, throat tight and eyes burning.

A long-fingered hand reached out, settling on Harry's shoulder before tugging him forward. Harry found himself pressed against a firm chest, wrapped in a pair of strong arms.

Harry let his eyes fall closed as he reached out to return the embrace.

"Harry," Tom said reverently, and Harry felt fingers carding gently through his hair, "my Harry."

"I missed you," Harry said, clutching Tom even closer. "God, I missed you so much."

Harry felt Tom's breath against his scalp as the other man buried his face in Harry's hair.

"You're here. You're really here," Tom murmured.

Harry nodded against Tom's chest, letting out a wet laugh.

Harry stood there, breathing in Tom's scent and reveling in the embrace. For all that it had been a decade since they'd seen each other last, the feelings it elicited in him hadn't changed. Harry had never felt safer than he did in Tom's arms, and apparently neither time nor space could change that.

Tom began to pull back, too soon for Harry for all that it had been several minutes. Harry tightened his grip unconsciously, refusing to let the other man pull away.

Harry's ears filled with the warm, rich sound of Tom's laughter.

"Don't you fret, Harry," he said, pulling away again, though this time Harry reluctantly allowed it.

Grey eyes stared down at him filled with warmth.

"Now that I've found you again, I'm not letting you go," Tom told him, reaching out and cupped Harry's cheek with one hand before wiping away the tears Harry hadn't known he was shedding with his thumb.

Harry gave him a watery smile in return.

"Still the same possessive bastard I see," Harry said.

Still, it wasn't quite a joke. If Tom _was_ the same kind of possessive he'd been when they were kids, there would be no escaping the man now that he and Harry were together again. If, for some reason, Harry felt the need to get away, the only realistic plan would be changing his name and leaving the state at the very least, if not the country.

"For you, my dear, always," Tom replied with a familiar, sharp smile.

Well, that answered that question. Still, it wasn't as if Tom had been particularly subtle when he was younger. Harry knew exactly what his friend was capable of. And he couldn't really foresee a circumstance where he'd want to be anywhere but exactly where he was. Here, with Tom.

There was the sound of a nearby door slamming, and Harry suddenly remembered that they were standing in the middle of a hallway during probably one of the highest traffic times of the year.

"We'll continue this later," Tom informed him in that imperious way he had. It had been hysterical when Tom was seven, but it actually seemed to suit him now. "For now, let's get you moved into your dorm," Tom said, glancing down at the bin.

"You're not on my floor, are you?" he asked, brow furrowed. "I would have recognized your name immediately on my list of residents."

"I am," Harry told him. "Right across the hall, actually.

"317," Tom said, and Harry could tell by his tone of voice that if Tom were anyone else, he'd be smacking his own forehead. "Of course. There was last minute shuffling because some snot-nosed spawn of a major donor to the school was unsatisfied with his accommodations. It was the responsibility of some other RA to get it sorted out and make sure all the doors had the proper names. I assume you have your key, yes?"

Harry shot him a glare.

Tom smirked at him before bending over and picking up the bin. "Well then, what are you waiting for?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was fighting a smile. Tom really hadn't changed much at all. He'd mock Harry while simultaneously doing everything in his power to make Harry's life better.

Harry pulled his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He knocked before opening on the off chance that his roommate, Cormac McLaggen, according to the door, was in, ignoring Tom's huff of irritation behind him.

There was no response, and when Harry cracked the door open it was clear that McLaggen hadn't started moving in yet.

"He's not here yet," Harry told Tom as he moved out of his way so the other boy could bring the bin in.

"Good," Tom said, placing it down in front of the bed near the window, "that saves me from having to relocate his things so that you can have the side of the room you want."

"Tom," Harry said, rolling his eyes, but he was touched.

It was nice to have someone looking out for his interests. Still, he needed to be sure to keep an eye on that tendency so that he could step in and curb it when needed.

"Now, obviously you want the bed by the window," Tom said, as if his having remembered enough about Harry to guess at his preferences even a decade later wasn't anything out of the ordinary. "How much more do you have to bring up?"

"Another two bins and a chest," Harry answered.

"That's it?" Tom asked, staring at Harry intently. "That's all you brought with you?"

Harry glared at him. Tom had known very well what his living situation had been like with the Dursleys. At least for the most part. There had been some things he'd been sure to keep from Tom, like his accommodations.

"And you were just overburdened with luggage your first year," Harry told him, crossing his arms.

"I take it you stayed with the Dursleys then," Tom said, practically spitting out the name.

"There was nowhere else to go," Harry said with a sad smile.

"You're never going back there again," Tom said staring at Harry intently.

"That was the idea, yes," Harry said with a small quirk of lips. "I worked very hard to get a scholarship to make sure I'd never have to see them again."

"Good," Tom said. "Now, let's go get the rest of your things, get you unpacked and then go get you whatever else it is you might need."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry said with a grin.

"Come on then," Tom said. "It's time to go fetch the help."

"Do they know you call them that?" Harry asked, unable to keep a grin off his face.

Tom gave him an unimpressed look, and Harry just smiled in return. Tom's expression suddenly softened.

"I missed you too, you know," Tom said, his tone conversational, but as always his eyes gave him away. "I've been looking for you essentially since you left. I have to confess that I was impressed with your timing. By the time I'd managed to make it over to your house to demand an explanation, you were already gone."

"They only gave me a few minutes notice that we were leaving," Harry said, gripping his left elbow with his right hand, needing some sort of reassurance. "I left without permission to go find you at the park and then had to run back before they came looking for me," Harry told him, running his finger thoughtlessly along the silvery mark that cut across his elbow. "I didn't _want_ to leave."

Tom reached out and pulled Harry over, wrapping him in his arms again. Giving Harry exactly what he needed but could never ask for.

"I don't blame _you_ , Harry," Tom said, but from the dark tone in his voice it was clear he blamed _someone_.

Harry couldn't really hold it against him. It would be hypocritical. Harry certainly blamed someone for it.

"I never forgot you Harry," Tom said seriously. "How could I? You know very well what you mean to me. Or," he said, one hand coming up to cradle Harry's skull, gently pressing him even closer, "perhaps you don't. Ten years is a long time, after all."

"I knew what I meant to you," Harry offered, relaxing the embrace. "I just...I wasn't sure I would still mean the same thing."

"That's because you're an idiot," Tom said firmly in a familiar tone.

"And you're a creep," Harry rejoined, continuing their schoolyard exchange with a smile.

"I'm your creep," Tom said. "That hasn't changed. And it isn't ever going to."

"And I'm your idiot," Harry replied, burying his face even more firmly against Tom's chest. "I always was. I never stopped."

Tom's fingers ran through Harry's hair for a moment before he cleared his throat.

"Come on, let's go fetch the rest of your things. I'd hate for someone to walk off with them."

Harry snorted at that as he pulled back. Tom would hate it yes, but not nearly as much as whoever had done the stealing when Tom got his hands on them. Tom had always been cruel, yes, but he had always been at his most vicious when seeking retribution. For the sake of any would be thieves, he really should go grab the rest of his things.

"Fine. Let's go fetch the 'help' and grab the rest," he said.

Tom stood, releasing all of Harry but his hand and began dragging him out of the room. Harry smiled widely and let him.

A flight of stairs and a hallway later, Tom released Harry's hand to rap sharply against a door with an RA plaque. A jaunty penguin proclaimed it to belong to "Barty Crouch" in an untidy scrawl.

"Crouch!" Tom said. He didn't lower himself to yelling.

Judging by the thumping noise and muffled swearing Harry could hear coming from the other side of the door, Tom hadn't needed to. It was only a matter of a few more seconds before the door was yanked open by a young man with sharp eyes, hollow cheeks, and disheveled hair.

"Riddle," Crouch said, a nervous look in his eyes and deference in his voice.

Well, it seemed that Tom had already made great strides in terms of his personal goals when it came to his social circle. Harry couldn't really say he was too surprised. He'd already been here two years, after all.

"Barty," Tom said, his tone filled with that faux politeness that Harry knew nothing good could come from.

Judging by the expression on Barty's face, he knew this as well.

"I'm going to need your assistance with something," Tom said, gesturing Barty out into the hallway.

"Of course," Barty said, stepping out immediately. "I'm entirely at your disposal. Do I have time to lock up first?"

Tom waved his hand in a permissive manner, and Barty turned around and locked his door immediately. As soon as the door was shut, Barty turned around and visibly started. Harry couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him at that.

"Barty," Tom said, lips pressed together in a firm line. "I see you've finally noticed Harry. I was under the impression that you were more observant."

"Aww, Tom, don't be hard on him," Harry said, striving to contain his amusement. Still, as hilarious as Tom's reaction was, a part of him was touched that his friend was still so eager to ensure that Harry was given the attention Tom felt he deserved. "He was just so awed by your presence he couldn't see anything else."

Tom shot him a glare, and Harry laughed, reaching out and putting a hand on Tom's shoulder to keep himself upright.

"Are you quite finished?" Tom asked, bearing an incredibly put upon expression.

"You know you missed me," Harry said with a grin.

"I did," Tom said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but the expression on his face was tender as he stared down at him.

Harry felt himself blush, and he had to look away, unable to meet Tom's eyes anymore. Instead he found himself looking at Barty Crouch, and had to fight back another laugh at the completely flabbergasted look on his face.

"Harry," Tom said, carrying on as if the entire interlude hadn't happened. "This is Bartemius Crouch Junior. He is, as I'm sure you have gathered for yourself, a fellow RA. Barty is also a member of an organization I lead."

Judging by the expression of pure panic on Barty's face, that organization was one that wasn't supposed to be mentioned to those outside its ranks. Tom never really had cared at all about breaking rules. He thought himself above them.

"Barty," Tom said, ignoring the expression on the other man's face with the ease of long practice, "This is Harry Potter," Tom said, throwing a proprietary arm around Harry's shoulder, "my dear childhood friend."

The expression of horror turned to one of shock.

Harry didn't really blame him. Tom didn't exactly seem like the type to have childhood friends, let alone "dear" ones. The adjective was a new one, but Harry didn't really mind. It was true, after all.

Still, if this was the way all the people in Tom's social circle were going to react, the first week of college might be a lot more fun than Harry had been expecting.

"Now, come along," Tom ordered, grabbing Harry's hand again and pulling him along towards behind him, "You're going to help move Harry into his dorm room."

"Of course," Barty said, sounding dazed.

Harry was feeling a bit dazed himself, to be honest. Tom. He'd found Tom. After all those years apart, he and first friend were together again. He'd spent the last ten years aching and pining for his friend, and now, suddenly, here he was. It was a little hard to believe.

Tom was the only thing that had made his childhood livable, the only thing that had kept him going during the early days, when he still yearned for the affection of a family that saw Harry as nothing more than a burden and reminded him of it at every turn. Isolated, hated, and feared, Harry had been afraid he would be alone forever.

Tom had changed all of that. Tom was, without a doubt, the most significant person in his life so far. And to have gone through so long without the man but to have so little about their relationship changed...it felt too good to be true.

Still, Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tom was here. Tom was here, and that was all that mattered.

Tom was his RA, Harry suddenly realized, and had to fight the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. When he'd been anxious about what it would be like to be in college, when he had been dreaming about it with longing over the summer at the Dursleys (the last summer, thank god) this particular scenario had never entered in his calculations.

Clearly his college experience was going to be nothing like he had imagined.

"Where exactly are your things, Harry?" Tom asked.

Harry heaved a sigh. "Near the entrance."

"Which entrance?" Barty asked. "There's three for the dorm."

Harry felt his face reddening, struggling with how to explain. It turned out to be an unnecessary fear, however. Tom, judging by his darkening expression, had understood Harry's meaning exactly.

"Your relatives dropped you off?" he asked, voice like ice.

"The fact that they actually deigned to drive me here is actually huge by their standards," Harry pointed out.

"That being true does nothing to make the situation better," Tom ground out. "Was it the fact that it meant they were getting rid of you forever that motivated them?"

"Dudley had something he needed to be dropped off at somewhere nearby, so it the convenience plus my good behavior during Marge's last visit earned me a ride up here."

Tom snarled at that, and the look in his eyes made it clear he and Harry would be having words about the situation at a latter time. Tom spare hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone.

A smartphone, Harry noticed. The newest model. Clearly Tom had found some sort of income to help keep himself in the style he felt he deserved. Harry was glad. Tom deserved the best.

Tom pushed a few buttons and began barking orders at whoever was on the other end of the line.

Harry made a careful study of the figure before him, focusing on trying to find the traces of the friend he had known in the handsome man before him. And if that gave him an excuse to look at the frankly breathtaking man before him, well, Harry wasn't going to complain.

It was unfair, really, how attractive Tom was now. The man was brilliant, ambitious, and incredibly deft at manipulating others. Giving him good looks on top of the rest of it meant that no one really had a chance.

Harry included himself in this. He'd been in love with the boy since he was seven. Adding hormones, stupidly good looks, and Tom's incredible tactility when it came to Harry on top of everything else just wasn't fair.

"So," an unfamiliar voice said, jerking Harry out of his contemplation, "how exactly did you and Riddle meet?"

This was an opportunity too good to pass up. Because Harry had the sense that he was going to be getting this question an obscene amount in the next few days. From the sounds of things, Tom had accumulated quite a following here on campus.

The opportunity to mess with all of them was too tempting. Besides, Tom had always been highly protective of anything he considered truly personal. It wasn't that he was a private person, as much as it was that he just didn't feel he could trust others with information about him.

Earning that trust was something Harry was incredibly proud to have accomplished, and it wasn't something he was going to risk. And Harry had the feeling that Tom would consider this deeply personal. At least Harry hoped so.

Harry had an incredible opportunity to simultaneously entertain himself and protect Tom's confidences.

"Well, you see, I was just getting out from detention when Tom was sneaking back into school with a venomous snake to set loose on his classmates for not following his directions during a group project," Harry said, expression perfectly serious. "I saw him, obviously, but he couldn't leave any witnesses. And while Tom may be willing to arrange accidents for other people, he's no murderer," Harry said righteously. "So instead he kidnapped me and kept me in the shed behind his house for oh, what, three years?"

"Three and a half," Tom called over his shoulder offhand.

Harry grinned. Tom may have sounded completely composed, but Harry could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was trying not to laugh.

"Right, three and half years. Sorry. It took me awhile to start keeping tally," he whispered to Barty conciliatorily.

"Anyway, after three and a half years, I finally managed to escape when he was on a field trip one day," Harry told Barty. "But at that point, the Stockholm had well and truly set in. So when I saw him again just now, well, it turns out I'd missed him a lot more than I had expected. And I know my trauma councilor is going to be disappointed, but I really just couldn't help myself," Harry said, radiating sincerity.

Barty stared at him, brow furrowed, clearly trying to distinguish fact from fiction.

Harry was only able to keep his face straight by biting his tongue. Tom, the bastard, was prolonging the time he had his back turned by calling someone else. Clearly he didn't trust himself not to give something away with his expression. Though perhaps that was for the best. Harry was sure if they made eye contact, they'd both lose it.

Tom, attention still seemingly on the phone as he resolutely did not look at Harry, began tugging him forward again.

Barty trailed afterward, brow furrowed as his gaze darted back and forth between Harry and Tom.

Knowing that the other man wasn't going to be much good as entertainment until he made up his mind about how truthful Harry had been, Harry turned his attention fully back to Tom. The urge to burst into hysterical cackles had receded enough that he felt it was safe to do so.

"I don't care," Tom told whoever was on the other end of the phone, his tone clipped in a way that spelled trouble for whoever was on the other end. "You'll go out there and keep an eye on it. I'll be arriving shortly."

Harry imagined he could hear a whimpering noise from the other end of the phone as Tom pulled it away from his ear.

"The 'help' being less than helpful?" Harry asked, fighting to keep himself from smiling.

"Not if they know what's good for them," Tom said, a hit of a growl in his voice.

Harry was devastated to learn he found it almost unbearably arousing. Christ. As if Harry needed any other weaknesses when it came to Tom.

"So, what was that about?" Harry asked.

Crouch, he could see from the corner of his eye, was staring at him flabbergasted. Apparently you didn't just _ask_ Tom Riddle about his plans.

Unless, Harry thought with a smug twist of his lips, you were Harry Potter.

"I was getting someone to wait with your things while we make our way over there. The first phone call was to procure a car. Unfortunately, with all the nonsense around move in, those few of us who have permission to be on campus have been relegated to the parking lots in the areas of campus colloquially referred to as Siberia."

"Tom..." Harry began, but an unimpressed glare cut off his protest before it could really even begin.

Harry rolled his eyes, though he had to fight off a smile as he did so. It was nice to be taken care of, for once.

An impromptu tour of campus later, Harry found himself approaching the entrance to campus. His bins and chest were still there, to his relief, as well as a figure that somehow managed to project petulance from a distance.

Tom frowned slightly at this, but Harry applied an elbow to his ribs. Tom cut his eyes in Harry's direction and arched at eyebrow at him.

"He did what you asked," Harry pointed out. "The fact that he didn't do it cheerfully doesn't change anything."

"It's disrespectful," Tom said in response. "And his theatrics are turning this into far more of a scene than it needs to be."

"So don't make it more of one than it is already," Harry responded. "If you find his behavior unacceptable, which honestly strikes me as a bit much, correct it later. In the privacy of a group meeting, where others might benefit from his learning experience."

Faster than Harry could react, he found himself wrapped in Tom's arms again.

"Have I mentioned that I missed you?" Tom asked, as if inquiring about the weather

"It came up once or twice," Harry said, reaching out to fist one hand in the fabric of Tom's shirt. "Did I mention that I missed you too?"

"You might've," Tom said.

Harry gave himself a moment to bask before turning back to the matter at hand.

"Come on," Harry said, patting him on the chest, "We were in the middle of something. And I've no doubt you've managed to send your minions into cardiac arrest."

"Ask me if I care," Tom challenged him.

"Weren't you the one just complaining about appearances and making a scene?" Harry pointed out, making a half-hearted attempt to remove himself from Tom's embrace.

Tom thwarted him easily, and Harry didn't bother trying again. It wasn't as if he actually wanted to be anywhere else.

Barty cleared his throat from behind them, and Harry swore he could actually feel the glare Tom gave him over his head. If looks could kill Barty would have been incinerated on the spot.

"Riddle, we have floor meetings starting at two," he pointed out. "And it's nearly one as it is. If you want to avoid any _awkward_ questions, especially this early…"

There was some subtext to this conversation that Harry was missing, but it didn't sound as if it were that important. He wanted to reconnect with Tom, yes, but he'd much rather do it out of the public doors. Harry had some questions he wanted to ask Tom that he could only do behind closed doors. And judging by the calculating look Tom was sending him now, he wasn't the only one.

"Fine," Tom huffed. He released Harry, but only halfway, keeping him tucked under his arm like a bird might keep a chick sheltered under it's wing. "You may as well meet our dramatic friend while we wait for transportation."

The "friend" in question was standing ramrod straight now, staring at Harry and Tom in an expression of openmouthed shock Harry had no trouble identifying even at this distance.

There was something about it that tugged at Harry's mind as they approached. The other man seemed almost familiar, somehow. As they made their way closer, the man managed to school his expression, but the feeling of familiarity only grew stronger.

"Perseus," Tom drawled when they were close enough. "How _nice_ of you to join us. And so cheerfully too. As I'm sure you know, attitude is such an important part of how we make it through the day. I'm glad to see yours has improved since I called for your help."

The man before them paled, and Harry stared at him in consternation. Surely if he'd met the man before, he'd remember his name? Especially one so unusual.

Perseus ducked his head. "I…I apologize, Riddle. Your call woke me from a rather deep sleep, and I didn't quite come to my senses until afterward. Not," he continued hastily at the expression on Tom's face, "that that's any excuse. It shouldn't have happened, and it won't happen again."

"No," Tom replied coldly. "It won't."

Sensing a détente and determined to figure out why exactly he felt right on the edge of remembering the man, Harry spoke up.

"You going to introduce me?" Harry asked.

"How remiss of me," Tom said with a sharp smile. "Harry, this is Perseus Black…"

" _Black_?" Harry interrupted, pieces coming together.

No wonder the boy had looked familiar. The same dark hair, framing a face with a familiar nose, and the slightly haunted look Harry had only ever associated with one person. The resemblance, now that Harry knew what to look for was impossible to miss. And hadn't Sirius mentioned that constellation names were a Black family tradition? The name "Perseus" made much more sense, in that context. The two had to be related. The only question now was _how_.

"As in in _Sirius_ Black?" Harry asked him intently, searching for more information.

Perseus winced. It was a wince Harry was familiar with. The one Aunt Petunia gave whenever someone asked her about him. The wince of someone confronted with a family member they were ashamed of.

"He's my uncle," Perseus confessed reluctantly. "But you have to understand, the rest of the family isn't _anything_ like him."

Sirius's nephew. Which meant that Perseus was some form of cousin, if Sirius's confused relating of his family tree could be trusted. Which meant that

Tom interrupted before Harry could figure out what to say next.

"Why, Harry dear," Tom asked, his voice syrupy sweet in a way that meant Harry was about to be called out on something reckless he'd done "is it that the first place your mind leaps is to a mass murder who escaped prison over three years, and so quickly I might add?"

"Harry?" Perseus said, staring at Harry in dawning horror. "Not…not Harry _Potter_?"

"The one and only," Harry said, trying not to sigh too hard. Tom had caught the scent now, and he wasn't going to let it go any time soon. And it seemed as if Perseus was going to tell the worst parts of the tale now, which meant Harry would have to explain things properly much sooner than he had planned on.

"What," Tom snarled, pulling Harry more tightly against his side, "exactly does your Uncle have to do with Harry?"

Perseus answered immediately, shooting Harry a slightly apologetic look. "Sirius and James Potter…they were police partners. But Sirius…Sirius was apparently a dirty cop and blew Potter's cover on an undercover op. He got James Potter and his wife killed. And then, to top it all off, when confronted by their other friend on the force, Pettigrew, he…well, he snapped. Killed eleven people."

"That's _not_ how it happened," Harry couldn't help but interject. To here Sirius so maligned was enough to overcome his reluctance to discuss such things in public.

"And _how_ ," Tom asked, "would you know that?"

Judging by the venomous glare Tom was shooting at him, his oldest friend had a fairly good idea how Harry had gotten that information.

"You and I," Tom said slowly, "will be discussing this in _great_ detail. As soon as the inanity that is orientation is over this evening."

Harry tried not to grimace at that proclamation. True, he'd been looking forward to actually _talking_ to Tom. To getting caught up in a place where Tom wouldn't feel the need to be anything but himself. Not just the cruel, calculating vicious parts, which at the very least seemed to be on display for his minions, but the softer, more vulnerable side. The tender side Harry had only ever seen directed towards himself.

Still, he'd wanted to control the flow of that conversation at least a little. Sirius Black and everything surrounding the circumstances of his presence in Harry's life was a subject that needed to be handled with some care. That was all shot to hell now.

Still, he had the rest of orientation to figure out some sort of strategy. Assuming there even was one. He'd probably just need to submit to Tom's interrogation on the subject with as little grace as possible and then let Tom get the shouting out of his system and before he could finally have a chance to tell the story properly.

"What does the rest of orientation even entail?" Harry asked.

There'd been a schedule at some point that he'd glanced over, but none of it had really gone into long-term storage. And the paper itself was long gone. He'd made the mistake of leaving it out where Uncle Vernon had come across it. That had, of course, been the last he'd seen of it and most of his other orientation materials.

"Floor meeting starting at four, to introduce all the freshman to their RAs," Barty offered. "Cover the dorm rules and expectations. After all of that is discussed, we are then unfortunately forced to segue into a discussion about life on campus."

"Icebreakers," Tom muttered darkly. "You forgot the icebreakers."

Harry snorted involuntarily. The idea of Tom leading icebreakers was too hilarious to remain impassive in the face of.

"After that we frog march you all to the dining hall, where we are all force to endure their so-called 'food'," Barty said. The expression on his face made it clear that he wasn't a fan of the on-campus dining service.

Harry was sure he wouldn't share the sentiment. Regular meals were a luxury he was sure he would never take for granted.

Tom was giving him a considering look, and the small wrinkle between his eyebrows spoke of a deep concern. Harry shot him back an expression of confusion, but Tom just shook his head slightly.

Yet another topic of conversation for when they had privacy, apparently.

"After that, it's a presentation on fire safety, ending with a practice run of escaping a burning building," Barty continues, "and then after that they set you all lose on the quad to mingle."

"I'll go over the rest of the agenda with you later," Tom interjected here. "Because it appears from the looks of things that our ride has finally arrived."

Harry stared at the vehicle in question and had to fight to keep an expression of his face. Of course Tom would demand someone with a high-end car come pick them up. Of course he would.

Still, for all that Tom was drawn to the ostentatious, he at least had enough sense to make sure things were practical. "Function _and_ form," he was sure Tom would say if confronted about it, or at least something similar.

Harry had reacted to a life of poverty by deciding not to care about material things at all. The Dursley's complete obsession with appearance probably had a lot to do with this particular take on the problem. Tom, on the other hand, seemed to have taken the opposite approach. Every luxury he had been denied, he now felt he was entitled to.

He'd been like this nearly as long as Harry could remember. Tom had always been attracted to shiny things. Privately, Harry though of him as a Magpie. The one time he'd voiced that opinion to Tom had merited a reaction that persuaded Harry that it was a nickname only to be brought out on the special occasions when he truly wanted to drive Tom up the wall.

One of the tinted windows rolled down, and a man with a strong jaw and stubble wearing sunglasses stuck his head out the window.

"One car, at your service, as requested," he said with a faint accent.

"Excellent, Antonin," Tom said, staring not at the man in the car, but at Perseus. "Your prompt response and general disposition are appreciated."

Harry pressed his elbow against Tom's ribs, gently and slowly. Merely to get attention.

"A little heavy handed, there," Harry murmured, for Tom's ears only.

"Black requires heavy-handedness," Tom grumbled under his breath.

"That's not a surprise," Harry said with a grin. "He sounds more like his Uncle than he'd like to admit."

Tom's eyes narrowed and Harry promptly turned his attention to the man in the car in order to avoid his gaze. The man in question was staring back at him, eyebrow arched. Clearly full of questions, but well trained enough to settle for observation until Tom deigned to offer any information.

What on earth had Tom _done_ to these people? And how had he gotten away with it on such a massive scale? Harry knew Tom's methods, and for them to have gone _undetected_ by so many was unreasonable. Unless there was some sort of existing mechanism…

Ah.

Fraternity or Secret Society, then. The hazing portion of initiation would have provided the perfect mechanism for Tom to indulged his more sadistic tendencies and provided him with a justification for doing so.

Secret Society was more likely, given how Tom had described his relationship to Barty. And it would appeal to his dramatic side.

Antonin was likely to be a member as well.

"Antonin, step out so we can do proper introductions," Tom ordered.

The man obeyed instantly. He was bulky and tall. Harry could see how he could be useful when it came to intimidating others.

"Harry, this is Antonin Dolohov," Tom said, gesturing with the hand not currently thrown over Harry's shoulder. "He's a senior student from Russia, here studying abroad."

"Dolohov," Tom said, "this is my friend, Harry Potter," and he reached up with the hand that had previously been resting on Harry's shoulder to spin a strand of Harry's hair between his fingers in full view of everyone else. "We were very close as children."

Antonin's eyes widened to a comical degree, and Harry could hear Perseus making a strangled noise behind them.

Tom was clearly trying to establish something with his introductions. That Harry was his friend was being emphasized very heavily. Given what Harry knew of Tom and what it was clear his followers knew of Tom, Harry's introduction was both a message and a warning.

Still, it was a little over the top even for that. Harry thought Tom was hitting the point so hard specifically to watch his followers react to the information. Harry had to admit that he himself was finding it incredibly amusing.

"Antonin," Tom said, "we're going to be taking Harry's things over to the dorm and getting him moved in."

Antonin's eyebrows rose, but he kept silent. Instead he simply walked over and picked up a bin, carrying it wordlessly over to the trunk. Tom glanced pointedly at both Perseus and Barty. Barty bent over and grabbed the other bin at once. Perseus, on the other hand, was a little slower on the uptake, which gave Harry the time he needed.

Harry swooped in and grabbed the handles just before Perseus's hands closed around them.

"I'll get that," Harry said, pulling the chest as close to his body as he could manage.

Tom shot Harry a look, one eyebrow arching. "Let him make himself useful, Harry."

"No," Harry said, more firmly than he had intended. "I'm perfectly capable of carrying it myself," Harry said, trying to do damage control on his tone.

Too late. Tom's gaze became more intent in a fraction of a second. He arched his eyebrows in a silent demand for explanation, and Harry knew that if he refused to answer, Tom wouldn't hesitate to press the issue, regardless of their audience.

"It belonged to my parents," Harry said simply, knowing that would be enough.

Tom's eyes softened immediately.

"So, I'll just carry it myself, then," Harry said.

Tom heaved a small sigh before reaching forward. He wrapped his hands around the handles, warm around Harry's own. His eyes met Harry's, silently asking.

Not just permission, but a question.

There was really only one answer he could give, even after a decade apart.

Harry let go.

Tom took the weight of the chest with ease, and the smile that broke out on his face was the most breathtaking thing Harry had ever seen. Tom leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Harry's own for a long moment, eyes bright and filled with tenderness.

Harry's chest felt tight, and he wondered for a long moment if Tom was about to pay him back for what he'd taken all those years ago.

He tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed when Tom pulled away.

Still, watching Tom walk away, treating the chest like something precious and delicate touched Harry. The chest meant nothing to Tom, but because it was important to _Harry_ , it had become something treasured.

Doomed. Harry was doomed. He might as well just accept that fact now and be done with it. If this was what he felt like after less than an hour back in Tom's company, he didn't want to think about what would happen after prolonged exposure.

"I'm so screwed," Harry murmured under his breath, unable to help making a careful study of Tom's rear as he bent over to carefully place the chest in the trunk.

Perseus placed a hand on his shoulder, and Harry felt himself tensing. With only a handful of exceptions, he _really_ didn't like being touched.

"If you're doing what it looks like you're doing," he said conversationally, "then yes. Yes you are."

"Thanks, Perseus," Harry sarcastically, trying to ignore the stiffness in his shoulder. "Really. Just thanks a bunch."

"Always happy to help," Perseus said with a grin. "Especially for an honorary Black."

"Honorary Black?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Perseus said with a grin. "I mean, even though things went the way they did with Sirius," he said, his expression darkening briefly, "he was your godfather. And your dad spent so much time over at our house, well…my dad's been trying to get in touch with you for years."

"You and I need to have a talk about my godfather," Harry told him. "The situation…it's not what you think."

Perseus looked at him intently. "Alright, Harry," he said, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "Whatever you have to say, I'll try and listen. Given the rumor I heard a few years ago, I have the feeling that it'll be interesting, at the very least."

" _Perseus_ ," came a low growl from the direction of the car, voice cold enough to freeze hell over.

Perseus yanked his hand away from Harry's shoulder as if he'd been burned before taking several steps away from Harry quickly. Harry felt himself relax. As eager as he was to try and develop some sort of relationship with Perseus, he couldn't help but feel immensely grateful for Tom's interference.

"It turns out we won't be needing you after all," Tom continued frostily, though his glare would have melted anything his voice froze. "Go. Now."

Perseus, for all that madness seemed to run in his family, had at least some sort of sense of self-preservation. He was gone without a word or even an expression in the direction of either Harry or Tom.

Tom appeared by his side as quickly as Perseus had disappeared, wearing a very familiar expression.

Harry soon found himself once again in the arms of his very possessive friend, and he had the suspicion that he wouldn't find himself out of them again anytime in the foreseeable future.

Harry reached out and wrapped his arm around Tom's waist, relaxing into his friend's hold. He told himself it was only appease Tom, who had been looking distressingly homicidal a moment before, but in a very small corner of his brain he had to acknowledge he might have had other motives.

"Still don't like being touched?" Tom asked, ice gone from his voice.

"In general? No," Harry told him as Tom escorted him toward the van. "Thank you for the rescue."

"Calling it a rescue suggests that my motives were altruistic," Tom replied, face blank in the way it only ever went when he either didn't know what emotion was expected of him in the situation or when he was having difficulty keep his own emotions under control. In this situation, Harry strongly suspected it was the latter. "And why didn't you just pull away? Then you wouldn't have needed 'rescuing' in the first place."

Harry's first reaction was to tell Tom that he wanted to be friends with Perseus, but then he remembered exactly who he was talking to. Claiming such a thing when Tom's possessiveness was already so roused would have been the height of stupidity

A different phrasing then. One that was less likely to end up with his cousin's somewhat suspicious suicide before the end of the week.

Tom opened the rear door to the car and offered Harry his hand, as if he were a Victorian gentleman and Harry was a maiden who needed help getting into the carriage.

"He's a connection to my family, and I think it's important to explore that," Harry offered as he took the offered hand and climbed in. "And I felt like asking him to stop might jeopardize that."

Tom climbed in immediately afterward and slammed the door behind him with a petulant "Fine."

"But," he cautioned, throwing his arm around Harry again, "if anyone touches you again, just pull away. If you feel the need to smooth ruffled feathers, you can do it later. Your comfort is paramount. Besides," he said, eyes glittering in a way Harry knew was incredibly dangerous, "a small moment of awkwardness is much, much better than they could expect if I happen to see them."

Harry nestled more firmly into Tom's side, letting out a small sigh of contentment. Harry could feel Tom relaxing against him, and then he felt long fingers running through his hair.

"So, to summarize," Harry said, "I still don't like to be touched, you still don't like people touching me, and we both consider you an exception to both those rules," Harry said, letting his head fall against Tom's shoulder at the last word as an illustration of the point he was trying to make.

"Precisely," Tom said as the front doors of truck opened.

Harry was again treated to the shocked faces of Barty and Dolohov, though only momentarily.

The drive back to the dorm was short, and Harry was content to pass it in silence. All the things that needed to be said were too heavy for this moment. Instead he let himself enjoy the warmth of the body next to him, the sensation of fingers in his hair, and the knowledge that it was _Tom_ providing both those things. For the first time in ten years, he felt perfectly content.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all so much for your kind words and enthusiastic comments. I'm glad you all seem to be enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it.**

 **So, nothing happens in this chapter. It is all fluff. But if I'd kept going, it would have been ridiculously long and this seemed like a good place to stop. Hopefully you all enjoy it.**

 **Also, since I forgot to mention it last chapter, fic title is from a line from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII.**

* * *

Getting Harry unpacked was pathetically easy, even with Harry forbidden from doing more than directing things. Tom spent the entire time eying his belongings with an air of distaste.

"I'll take you shopping later," was all he said in response to Harry's raised eyebrow. "What you do have is of surprisingly good quality, but there are several staple items you're missing that need to be acquired."

Harry shrugged, unconcerned. "It's fine. I've got enough."

Tom gave him an unimpressed glare.

Harry just stared back at him, unfazed.

"If I needed more, I would have bought it myself," Harry said with a shrug.

Tom's jaw twitched in a particular way Harry knew meant he was contemplating violence.

"Trust fund?" he asked politely.

Harry was suddenly very glad he'd listed the Weasley's address as his residence on all the school forms. It would slow Tom's locating of his relatives. Tom had seen enough of what life with the Dursley's was like to guess exactly what financial mismanagement had been going on before Harry finally had access to money that should have been used to support him from the start.

Harry let his gaze travel over to where Barty and Dolohov were putting away the last of his belongings instead of replying. Harry was willing to share just about anything with Tom, and the other boy was more than able to cajole the rest of it out of him if he truly wanted to, but Harry wasn't willing to extend that same trust to strangers, even if they were Tom's minions.

"Crouch, Dolohov," Tom said sharply, and Harry couldn't help the amusement he felt at watching the way they all but snapped to attention. "You're done here."

"Thank you for the help," Harry told them, determined to get his thanks out before they managed to scurry away. "I know Tom didn't give you much choice in the matter, but I wanted to let you know I appreciated it."

"It's no trouble," Barty muttered on his way towards the door where Dolohov had already fled after a quick nod of acknowledgment. "Any friend of Riddle's…" he trailed off and shrugged before giving a slightly sheepish smile. With a quick wave and a last considering look, he too was gone.

"Christ, Tom, what exactly did you do to them during hazing?" Harry couldn't keep from asking.

"Is that really what you want to spend the next half hour talking about?" Tom replied.

Harry conceded the point with a dip of his head and a shrug. Fair enough. Still, half an hour wasn't a lot of time, and they had more than a decade to cover.

"Come," Tom said, grabbing Harry's hand before making his way towards the door. "We don't have much time and I don't want us to be interrupted."

He pushed the door open, pulling an unresistant Harry behind him. They made their way into the hallway before pausing in front of Tom's door. Peering around his friend, it was easy to see why. Barty and Dolhov were hovering together a few feet down the hall, exchanging fervid whispers. Judging by the hand gestures and the looks on their faces it wasn't hard to guess what they were talking about.

Tom was clearly just planning on staring them into submission, but Harry had a better idea.

"My ears were burning," he said mildly, and was more amused than he should have been by the way they jumped. "Was there anything you wanted to ask?"

Tom was giving them both dark looks that made it clear that there was _nothing_ they wanted to ask. Barty and Doholov made eye contact with each other before Dolohov turned his gaze to the floor. Barty made eye contact with Harry, and while Harry could see he was curious, he clearly wasn't willing to cross Tom.

"Not at all," Barty answered. "We were simply expressing how eager we were to get to know a friend of Riddle's."

A grin split across Harry's face. "I'm eager to get to know all of you too. I've been waiting for years to share embarrassing stories from Tom's misspent youth."

Tom let out a heavy sigh, and Harry knew that if they had been alone Tom would have been pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Barty's eyes lit up with interest, for all that a quick glance at Tom had it dimmed down to nothing. Dolohov glanced back and forth between Barty's face and Tom's perfectly blank expression and grabbed the other man by the elbow before dragging him towards the stairs with a hasty goodbye called over his shoulder.

Harry managed to pick out the hushed words "baby dark lord" just as the fire door closed, and he couldn't help himself. He burst into laughter.

Tom sighed, but Harry could see the smile at the corner of his mouth and the fondness in his eyes.

"You're going to cause me a great deal of grief, aren't you?" Tom asked him as he unlocked the door to his room.

Harry grinned back at him, unrepentant. "Always. That's what I'm here for, after all. Make sure that head of yours doesn't get too big. Besides," he continued as Tom tugged him across the threshold and into his room, "I'm more focused on tormenting your minions by defying all their expectations and purposefully fucking with them."

"A task you will no doubt excel at," Tom answered sardonically.

"Like you weren't trying to keep it together in the hallway earlier. You're having just as much fun with this as I am, if not more."

The door clicked shut behind him and Harry suddenly found himself wrapped in Tom's arms once again. Harry let out a small sigh of contentment before returning the embrace and nestling himself against Tom's side, reveling in his ability to do so. The warmth from Tom's arms around him and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath Harry's ear were comforting. A reminder that this was real. That Tom was _here_.

"I think you would find that _nothing_ could spoil my mood today," Tom remarked offhand as he began working his fingers through Harry's hair again in a caress that made Harry's hair stand on end even his shoulders fell.

Harry let his hands tighten in the fabric of Tom's shirt and took a deep breath in, trying to fix this moment in his memory permanently.

"Missed you," Harry said again. He didn't care that he was repeating himself. Tom's absence had been like a hole in his heart for the last decade, and if these words were as close as he could get to expressing just how happy he was to have it filled again, he would say them as many times as it took for his chest to stop aching. He pulled back just far enough to allow himself to see Tom's face, to see those familiar eyes staring down at him with enough warmth to have him melting. "God, I can't believe you're _here._ I can't believe I found you again."

"I would have found you," Tom said, reaching up and cupping Harry's face with one hand, his thumb tracing alone Harry's cheekbone and sending shivers down his spine. "I never planned on doing any of this without you."

The intensity in his eyes made it impossible to doubt his words, and Harry took a deep breath, attempting to fight off the burning in his throat. Tom was never good with tears, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was break this moment.

"Still, for you to run roughshod over my carefully crafted plans and find me instead is so infuriately in character I'm irritated at myself for not having taken it into account in the first place," Tom continued with a small smile, all the more breathtaking for its sincerity.

Plans. There were plans in place. Tom had been intending on finding him all along.

For someone who had been cast aside and called worthless for as long as he could remember, the evidence that he was valued so highly by the person who was his everything was enough to have his eyes burning.

Tom worked his thumb under the edge of Harry's glasses and smoothed gently over the corner of his eye, wiping away the tears that had only just begun to form.

"You can't be surprised by this," Tom said, the care in his voice taking any censure from his tone. "You were my only friend, the only good thing in my life. You know exactly what I am. There is no way I would allow anything of mine to slip from my grasp permanently, let alone the only person I cared for. The only person I _care_ for."

The switch from past to present tense did nothing for Harry's control, and he buried his face in the front of Tom's shirt again, pulling his friend as close as he could. Tom's hand returned to Harry's hair again, running through it soothingly.

After a moment, Tom's weight shifted, for all that he didn't release his grip on Harry at all. Emotionally raw, Harry let Tom do as he pleased. After some coaxing and rearranging, Harry found them both perched on Tom's bed, backs propped up against the wall, Harry nestled against Tom's side as he had been in the car ride on the way over. The one that had taken far too little time for Harry's liking.

"How long do we have?" he asked reluctantly.

"Twenty minutes," Tom replied at once, knowing as ever exactly where Harry's thoughts were. "But the meeting itself shouldn't take long, and then orientation activities don't begin in ernest until four-thirty this afternoon."

Tom let out a heavy sigh before letting his head fall firmly against the wall. Harry looked up in concern, and saw that Tom's expression was a mask of frustration.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, sitting up some.

Tom just shook his head before tugging Harry close again.

"I find this part of being an RA an exercise in irritation on a normal basis. Having to placate all the freshman and play nice with the parents and answer inane questions all day long. Suffering through it while knowing I could be spending the time reconnecting with you instead..." Tom trailed off and shook his head, one hand curling into a fist even as the arm around Harry grew even tighter, "I'm not sure my control will be sufficient."

That had Harry sitting up and turning to face Tom fully. He'd seen Tom's control slip more than once when they were children, and it had never ended well. Over the course of their friendship, with Harry's help and timely intervention, he'd become much more adept at hiding what he was truly feeling or thinking until it suited him to do otherwise. Given what he'd seen that afternoon as students had greeted Tom on their way to fetch Harry's belongings, Tom's skills when it came to presenting only what he wanted to present had grown to the point where he was honestly almost terrifying charismatic. That control slipping was a serious concern.

"Hey," Harry said gently, smiling in satisfaction when Tom's grey gaze shifted from the far wall to Harry's face. "I'm not going anywhere. It sounds like we'll have at least an hour after the meeting before orientation starts, and even then, one of the freshmen you'll have to put up with asking inane questions will be _me_. Even if we won't have the chance to talk the way we might want to, we'll still be together."

Tom's eyes softened, for all that his expression stayed exactly the same. He tugged Harry back down, and Harry let himself nestle back against Tom's side, noting with satisfaction that his shoulders were much less tense than they had been.

The impromptu speech had been good for him as well. He hadn't realized how anxious he was about having to put off his conversation with Tom until he'd reminded himself that they weren't actually separating. In fact, if his impression about orientation was correct, he and Tom wouldn't apart for the next week. He couldn't exactly bring himself to mind.

Even the meeting would do him some good, Harry was coming to realize. Everything in his life had changed suddenly and drastically not even an hour ago. For the better, it was true, but taking some time to wrap his head around it could only help.

Harry suddenly let out a laugh.

"What?" Tom asked him, a small crease in his brow.

"I need a new major," Harry said, chuckling and shaking his head. "Christ, only an hour and you're already turning everything on its head all over again."

"Oh?" Tom asked, eyebrow arched. "And how, pray tell, have I managed to derail your major plans without us having had a conversation about the subject?"

"By being you," Harry answered easily. "I can't very well go into criminal justice if you're going to be a criminal mastermind, can I?"

The look Tom gave him in response was one Harry couldn't quite decipher, and before he had the chance to make sense of it he found himself once again wrapped in Tom's embrace. He wasn't quite sure what kept causing the spontaneous hugs, but he didn't mind.

"I keep forgetting," Tom offered by way of explanation, "how well you know me. Not just how well you know me, but that you have no qualms with who I am."

Harry didn't bother questioning Tom's doubt. He himself could barely believe how little had changed between them. He couldn't begrudge Tom that same uncertainty.

After a long moment, Tom pulled away again, though there was a tension in him that was more pronounced than before.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked him.

"Patience has never been one of my strong suits," Tom answered him in a distracted manner.

Harry snorted out a laugh. That was an understatement if there ever was one. Tom had been a nightmare as a child when force to wait for anything he wanted.

"Still," Tom said, clearly talking to himself, for all that his eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Harry, "I've waited ten years. I can stomach a few hours more."

Not tension, Harry realized suddenly. Anticipation. The look in his eyes had Harry's throat dry.

Harry tore his gaze away, knowing that his self control couldn't take much more of the way Tom's eyes seemed to be devouring him almost hungrily. There were only fifteen minutes before Tom had to leave for his meeting. Not enough time to address the elephant in the room. Besides, it couldn't be what Harry was thinking. Not really. He shouldn't get his hopes up. They would only be crushed. Being Tom's friend was more than enough.

For the first time, Harry took in his surroundings.

Tom, as an RA, was afforded the privilege of a single. The walls were not decorated with posters or anything so mundane, but rather with artwork reproductions Tom had even gone through the trouble of having framed. Pieces his friend no doubt planned on owning one day. Interspersed between them was the occasional certificate, the borders and gold foil distinctive enough to be easily recognized. There were no photos or anything else to indicate where Tom had come from or who he was close to. In addition to the university provided furniture, there was a shelf crammed with titles Harry couldn't quite make out from his position on the bed, a couch no doubt meant for entertaining, and a tank in one corner of the room.

Harry sat up at once, interest beyond piqued.

"You did it, didn't you?" Harry asked him.

"I did," Tom answered.

When they were younger, they'd spent a good portion of their time outdoors playing with snakes. Harry had found the reptiles interesting, it was true. There wasn't a great deal of company to be had in the garden, and the occasional garter snake had been more than welcome. Harry had always felt a strong kinship with the creatures. Unwanted, hated for no reason other than what they were. One of the last times he'd managed to cry (he'd learned early on that tears never did any good, and often only made things worse) was when Aunt Petunia had stumbled across him playing with one when he should have been weeding. Her scream had left his ears ringing, and while he was distracted, she'd snatched it, scratching him in the process. Before he had time to do anything about it, she'd chopped off the head of his friend with a spade.

Still, for all that Harry was at ease with snakes, Tom had an affinity with them that Harry had never seen since. He was a snake-whisperer, better than any snake charmer in any story Harry had ever read. Snakes had been one of the things they had bonded over early on in their friendship, Tom telling Harry all he had come to know about them from books while Harry played with whatever specimen they had managed to get their hands on that day. Tom had always said that when he got older, he would have a snake for real. One that no one could take away from them.

He shouldn't be surprised. Tom was always one to follow through, especially when it came to what he wanted.

"What did you end up naming it? What species? How old? How long have you had it? Does the dorm even allow snakes?" Harry asked, unable to keep his curiosity contained. The last question was tacked on as more of an afterthought than anything else. It wouldn't matter whether or not snakes were allowed, Tom would own one if he wanted to regardless.

Tom sighed, but he was smiling. He hopped off the bed before offering Harry a hand.

"Would you like to meet her?" Tom asked.

What kind of question was that?

"Yes, obviously," Harry said, placing his hand in Tom's. Some other day, he'd break his friend of the habit, but he was too excited about Tom's snake to bother now and too eager to indulge any moment of closeness he could get after all their time apart. Next week, perhaps.

Tom pulled him up from the bed with ease before guiding him to the corner of the room where the tank was. Harry examined it with interest. It was large, perhaps 40 gallons, with mulch in the bottom and at two hiding spots. One side of the tank was illuminated, likely with a heating lamp. Sprawled across the entire thing, looking quite comfortable, was a large black and brown snake, about two feet long.

"Harry, I would like you to meet Nagini, my ball python," Tom said, gesturing towards the tank with a smile on his face. "I bought her when she was fairly young, and she's a little over a year old. Would you like to touch her?"

Harry nodded eagerly.

Tom undid the top of the cage with the air of someone who'd repeated the motion countless times before, continuing to speak as he gently lifted his snake from her terrarium.

"Now, I doubt she'll let you hold her, so we won't try that. Not yet at any rate, though it would be ideal if you gave me a shirt or something else with your sent on it, so she can get used to you."

"Nagini," Tom all but crooned to her as he lifted her, and Harry felt his heart melt at the look he gifted the snake with as he brought her to his chest, "you're meeting someone very special today."

The snake's tongue flicked out and her little yellow eyes met Harry's own and he knew he was done for.

"This," Tom said completely serious as he guided her to perch across his shoulders, "is Harry Potter. You are to bite anyone who so much as look at him wrong."

"Tom," Harry said, with an eye-roll.

"If you were to aim for the jugular or any of the other major veins or arteries we've discussed, that would be ideal."

Harry ignored him and slowly reached out towards the snake's head, waiting for several flicks of her tongue.

"Behave," Tom told her sternly while Harry waited a moment for her to get used to his scent. "He is your master too, now."

"You're ridiculous," Harry told Tom.

Nagini hadn't reacted negatively, so Harry finally pressing his finger's against Nagini's smooth scales, being sure to pet several inches below her head. Nagini twitched a little under his fingers, but soon settled, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"And you," he told her as he stroked , "you are adorable."

The silence that fell after that was comfortable. Harry found himself absolutely enchanted with Nagini. Tom had always been the one to find their childhood companions. Harry wasn't quite as adept without him. And even when he did manage to find one, it had been different. Without Tom in his life, interacting with snakes had always been bittersweet, but they had also reminded him of the time they spent together. Petting Tom's pet snake was everything he had been missing for so long. After several minutes, Nagini even began to lean into his touch somewhat and Harry looked up at Tom, thrilled.

Tom was looking down at him, a soft smile on his face. Harry's throat went dry, taken aback by just how…content Tom looked.

"You have a way with temperamental, dangerous creatures," Tom said when he noticed Harry's scrutiny.

"Nagini doesn't strike me as dangerous," Harry said, still absorbed in the look on Tom's face.

"Normally when she meets someone new, she bites. Or even someone she's familiar with. Anyone who isn't me, really. I knew she wouldn't bite you, though," Tom replied, seeing Harry's sharp look. "Even if she tried, I wouldn't let her."

"Why?" Harry asked, in too good a mood to make his voice as chastising as it should have been. "Why were you so sure she wouldn't bite me?"

"I'm comfortable with you, so she is too," Tom answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

A knock on the door interrupted them before Harry had the chance to figure out exactly what his chest was doing in response to Tom's statement, which was probably for the best. Tom cut a glare in it's direction before looking down at his watch and cursing.

"Time for the meeting?" Harry asked him.

Tom gave a curt nod, his mouth curling in distaste. Clearly frustrated, just like Harry himself was. They hadn't had nearly enough time together, hadn't had a chance to cover _any_ of the things that had happened. As wonderful as just _being_ with Tom was, there was so much they needed to talk about.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said, taking his hand from Nagini to rest it against Tom's arm instead. "I'll either be here or across the hall."

"Half an hour," Tom said, reaching up to wrap his fingers around Harry's wrist. "I'll be back here in half an hour, if not sooner. And then we'll talk."

Harry nodded.

Another knock, and Tom let out a frustrated huff before slowly loosening his grip. Harry reached out with his now free hand to give Nagini one last pat before Tom returned her to her tank. Tom shrugged her off his shoulders, handling her with the ease of someone who'd done it countless times before. As soon as she was settled in the tank and the top was firmly attached, Tom spun around and wrapping his arms tightly around Harry again.

"Half an hour," he murmured into Harry's hair. "You'll stay here, yes?"

Harry sighed. He'd planned on spending some time getting habituated to his new room, but he had a feeling Tom wouldn't leave unless the man knew Harry was somewhere Tom thought of as his territory.

"Yeah, if you want," Harry answered.

"You'll stay here," Tom said, a statement instead of a question.

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face. He tightened his arms around Tom briefly before pulling away.

"Yes, I'll stay here, you possessive dictator. Now go," Harry said, tilting his head towards the door. "And don't be too hard on Barty for interrupting."

A brief widening of his eyes was the only sign that he had caught Tom off-guard with that last comment, and Harry grinned up at him.

"I know you, remember?"

Tom's answering smile left Harry breathless.

"You do," he said. "And I'm beginning to."

Tom tugged Harry in tightly again for one last hug. Then there was pressure against the top of his head and Harry felt himself freeze in shock as he realized that Tom had just kissed his hair. Tom pulled away, took one look at the flustered expression on Harry's face, and the smile that crossed his lips only made everything much worse.

Tom leaned forward, eyes intent, and Harry's brain shut down, unable to process what was happening, breath frozen in his chest, eyes drawn by some inescapable force to Tom's eyes. They were full of heat, and it was only Harry's grip on Tom's and Tom's arms around Harry that kept him upright. Tom's face hovered over his own for a moment that felt like eternity before Tom's lips pressed against his forehead, and all the air that had been trapped in Harry's lungs escaped in an unsteady exhale.

Tom pulled away just far enough that his lips were no longer pressed against Harry's skin, but close enough that Harry could feel his breath against his skin as Tom whispered.

"Soon," he said, staring down at Harry with dark promise, sending shivers skating down Harry's spine.

Then Tom was gone, the door opening and closing before Harry had a chance to react.

Harry let out an unsteady breath, leaning back against the wall. He brought his hand up and pressed it against the the spot where Tom's lips had been a few seconds before.

"I'm in trouble," he said, staring up at the speckled ceiling.

* * *

 **I know nothing about snakes, and all information here is the result of a quick google search, so please don't take it too seriously.**

 **Please let me know what you thought! I love hearing from all of you. And if you want to know what I'm up to in between chapters, feel free to follow me on tumblr. There you can find things like an outtake in the form of a small character exercise involving Tom's POV of his and Harry's reunion, some wonderful fanart, or me whining about my life and my various plot bunnies.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all so much for your comments! I'm so happy you guys seem to be enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it!** **There's still no real plot in sight, but knowing me one is bound to turn up at some point. Still, I think you'll all enjoy this chapter regardless. Please note the change in rating.**

 **Merdesmiroirs made a fantastic piece of fanart for last chapter which you can find a link to in my profile. Please go shower it and them with affection.**

* * *

After taking several minutes to get his breathing back under control, Harry cautiously made his way over to Tom's desk, sinking down into the chair with care. Tom had just kissed him. Not on the lips, but still. And the way he looked at Harry, what he had said before leaving…

Harry sucked in another deep breath. He couldn't be wrong about this. He absolutely could not be wrong. It would destroy him if this was all just wishful thinking on his part.

Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and called the one person he trusted most to try and make sense of what was going on in his head.

Every ring only served to ratchet the tension in his shoulders higher. When a familiar voice greeted him after the fourth ring, he let out a huge sigh of relief, slumping down in the chair.

"Hermione," he said.

"Harry! Is something wrong?" She sounded a little frazzled and obviously concerned, but clearly ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. His voice, no doubt, had tipped her off to his mood.

"No," he said, straightening up quickly as he began assuaging her fears. "Well, I mean, kind of? But not like you're thinking."

After the messes they'd managed to get themselves into in high school, she was no doubt imagining something terrible. It didn't help that he mostly only called when in dire straights. As a general rule, he preferred to keep in touch via email. He hadn't had a real cell phone until recently, and taking calls on the home phone had been strongly discouraged.

"Ron's here. Do you want me to put you on speaker?" Hermione asked him.

Hermione had been adamant that she wasn't going to let a relationship, even one as important as her relationship with Ron dictate her education or her future. Ron had shrugged in response and admitted he didn't really care where he went to school so long as he went, and had merely applied everywhere Hermione had as well as a few less prestigious schools near the ones Hermione was likely to get into. He actually managed to get into a few, and the one Hermione had eventually settled on had been one of them. The two had ended up in the same dorm, though different floors. Still, it made it easy to be in touch.

"Yeah, alright. I was planing on talking to him too, but it was really your advice I was after and I don't have a whole lot of time, so…" Harry shrugged before realizing it couldn't be seen through the phone, but still felt he'd gotten his point across.

There was a small beep as Hermione pressed a button, and then Harry could hear Ron's voice coming through the speaker as well.

"Harry!" Ron said.

"Ron," Harry answered back with a smile. "You two get moved in all right?" His brow furrowed as something occurred to him. "I'm not interrupting or anything, I am?"

"Nah," Ron said, "We got moved in just fine."

"Even if we hadn't, you're more important than making sure books get on the right shelves in the right order."

Harry was touched. Coming from Hermione, that was certainly saying something. Ron's low whistle showed that he clearly agreed.

"So what's up?" Ron asked, "Everything all right? All your stuff make it okay?"

"Yeah, no, that's not it. All of my stuff made it just fine, and I'm actually moved in already."

"Really?" Hermione said, clearly surprised. "I would have thought you'd only arrived an hour or so ago. I know you didn't have much," and her disapproval was clear to hear, to his amused exasperation, "but all by yourself it still would have taken awhile."

"It was closer to an hour and a half," Harry replied, glancing at the clock on Tom's desk, "but I wasn't doing it by myself."

This would serve as a nice segue into what he actually _needed_ to talk about. Which was good, because Harry wasn't sure how else he would have been able to bring it up. Taking a deep breath, he continued.

"I, uh…I ended up running into an old friend. He and a bunch of his" _minions_ "friends helped me get moved in. I really didn't have to do anything." Another deep breath. "That's actually kind of why I'm calling."

"An old friend?" Hermione said carefully, and Harry could practically hear the way her brain was whirring as it put the pieces together.

He'd told them both about Tom. About just about everything involved in their friendship. Including their last meeting. While Harry hadn't said anything, he was sure his attitude when his first kiss had come up had been more than enough to clue them into his feelings. Hermione, at any rate.

"You mean the guy you were in love with when you were like five?" Ron asked.

Harry didn't bother trying to fight his laugh, valiantly pretending there wasn't an almost hysterical edge to it. He knew he'd been obvious, but hadn't realized he'd been quite _this_ obvious. The sound of a smack, followed by Ron's protests and Hermione's scolding wasn't enough to distract him, though it was enough to make him laugh harder.

"Yeah, Ron," Harry managed to get out, "that one. Tom. Turns out he's my RA."

"Oh, Harry, that's wonderful," Hermione said.

Harry made a small noise of frustration before burying his free hand in his hair.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked. "Were things awkward? That's to be expected, Harry. It's been, what, eight years? I'm sure you two can work past it."

"Ten," Harry corrected offhand. "And no, that's just it. Things weren't awkward. They were exactly the same. _Nothing's_ changed."

"Oh," Hermione said quietly, voice full of understanding.

"It's not fair," Harry couldn't help whining. "He's still _Tom,_ which means he's won't stop touching me and he keeps _hugging_ me and he was an attractive kid by _any_ standards and now he's just stupidly handsome and his _fucking smile_ is doing terrible things to me."

He let his head fall forward onto the desk in front of him, and then just for good measure he banged it a few more times, hoping maybe something useful would shake loose.

"Shit, Harry," Ron said. "You're screwed."

Harry wasn't going to stop though. He was on a roll now.

"And he keeps looking at me like he wants to…" Harry couldn't even let himself say the words, "and then he _kissed me_ but not where I wanted him to and I'm trying really hard not to get my hopes up here."

"He _kissed_ you?" Ron asked.

"Not kissed-kissed," Harry clarified. "Like, we were hugging, and he kissed the top of my head?"

"Oh," Ron said, and Harry was gratified that his friend sounded somewhat disappointed on his behalf.

"Then he just kind of…stared at me," Harry said, chest tight and breaking out in goosebumps just remembering the way those grey eyes had devoured him, "and he leaned down and I thought he was going to kiss me on the lips but instead he kissed my forehead? And he keeps _saying things_."

Harry brought a hand up to rub at the spot once again.

"I don't know what to think," Harry said, hating how pathetic and confused he sounded, but there was nothing else for it. "Help me?"

"Why don't you tell us about what happened? Slowly."

Harry did.

When he was finished, Hermione made a considering noise.

"Well, this is a little difficult because I don't really know Tom."

"It's not difficult at all," Ron said.

"Ronald!" Hermione said sharply.

"What?" he said, and Harry couldn't help but smile at their antics.

He was struck by a sudden sadness. They weren't here. He was on the phone with them, it was true, but they were halfway across the country. He wouldn't be seeing them again in person for months. He missed them already. Still, there would be plenty of time for that later, he thought, viciously shoving the feeling down. There were more important things to focus on now.

"I mean," Ron continued, "he's been practically hanging off Harry all day. They _cuddled_ on _Tom's bed._ There were _forehead kisses_. I am not seeing much room for interpretation."

"He and I have always been really tactile though?" Harry said, voicing one of the doubts that had been running through his head.

Toeing off his shoes, Harry leaned back before putting his sock-clad feet up on the desk, being careful not to put them on any of the neatly organized papers on Tom's desk.

"Is he tactile with anyone else?" Hermione asked. "I mean, I love you Harry, and I know you love us, but you've never really been completely comfortable with physical displays of affection from me and Ron. You sort of…freeze up, and you'll reciprocate eventually and relax a little but it's clear you're still uncomfortable. And you never initiate them."

Harry sat up as much as his position would allow.

"I didn't realized you'd noticed," Harry said

"It's why hugs are usually reserved for life-and-death situations or celebrations after living through them," Ron said.

"But you're completely comfortable with Tom touching you, right?" Hermione said, returning back to her point.

"Yeah," Harry replied, still a little taken aback by his friends revelations about their knowledge of him as a person. "I actually really like it? I mean…it makes me feel safe. It always has."

"Does Tom touch anyone else like that?"

Harry couldn't help the dry chuckles at the thought.

"No," Harry responded. "I thought his friends where going to have a heart attack when they saw him with his arm around me. But it's _always_ been like that. I was his exception and he was mine, you know? That's not new."

"Is anything else you told us new?" Hermione asked.

"The…the kissing the hair thing isn't new, but it didn't happen very often. The forehead kiss…he's never done that before."

"I've kissed Ginny on the top of the head," Ron said, "but I don't think I'd ever give anyone but Hermione a forehead kiss. I mean, really, Harry."

"Have you two talked about what happened before you moved away?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron.

Harry sighed.

"No. There hasn't been time. Tom kind of alluded to it earlier, but…" Harry shrugged.

"I think," Hermione said slowly, "that if he were just going to brush it off or treat it as something childish, he probably would have mentioned it sooner. Just to clear the air. Waiting this long suggests that he wants to have a serious conversation about it."

"Or that he doesn't want to make things awkward." Even as he said the words, Harry realized how stupid they were. "Okay, yeah no. He wouldn't do that. Tom doesn't care about—" saying other peoples feelings wouldn't be taken well, but Harry had to scramble for a moment to come up with an alternative. "Tom doesn't care about things being uncomfortable. So okay, yeah, that was stupid."

"Just take off your shirt and sprawl on his bed. You'll have your answer really fast."

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed.

"What? I mean, either he doesn't care, or tells Harry to get dressed, or he finally takes Harry's V-card."

"Ron!" Harry yelped, mortified.

The sound of Hermione smacking him was even more satisfying than usual.

"It's true," Ron said, "I mean, it's probably the fastest way to find out, is all I'm saying."

"Or Harry could be an adult and have an actual conversation," Hermione said, her irritation obvious.

As awful as Ron's idea was, Harry had to admit he found it more attractive than Hermione's suggestion. He knew better than to admit it aloud, though. It would only get him in trouble.

"I don't really want to have an actual adult conversation about it," Harry replied instead. "There are enough of those in my future without adding another. Ten years of ground to cover and all."

Just thinking about how some of those conversations were bound to go was enough to make him wince. The Sirius conversation all on its own was going to be challenging. Not to mention there were several other years of shenanigans to cover, none of which were going to go over very well. Not to mention the hospitalizations.

"Fuck," Harry said soft, the reality of the situation finally hitting home. "He's going to kill me."

"Never, dearest," a familiar voice practically purred in his ear, "though from the look on your face it seems as if I may need to kill _someone."_

Harry let out a startled yelp, flinching violently in surprise. The movement slammed one of his elbows into the barely cushioned backrest of the chair at the perfect angle to send agony jolting down his arm. Harry swore, placing his phone down on the desk in favor of massaging his injured elbow, trying to stop the sparks of pain still shooting to his fingertips.

Tom moved from behind to perch on the desk across from Harry, reaching out and pulling Harry's feet into his lap, one hand running over a small scrape Harry had given himself in his fright. The other was holding Harry's cellphone. Harry's eyes widened before jerking back to where he had stupidly left his phone undefended, only to find himself staring at an empty patch of desk. This was not good. Not good at all.

When Harry made to leap to his feet to reclaim his stolen property, he discovered exactly why Tom had taken possession of Harry's feet, other than to soothe his hurts. Positioned as he was, he couldn't stand up. And Tom was too far for Harry to do anything but reach for the phone. It was completely ineffectual, a fact only highlighted by the smirk on Tom's face.

"Give me back my phone, you bastard," Harry hissed at him as he tried and failed to tug his feet out of Tom's lap.

"My parents were married, actually," Tom responded offhand as he easily thwarted Harry's efforts.

"Really?" Harry asked, blindsided by the new information.

It was a huge surprise. Given what they knew about his mother and Tom's placement in the system in the first place, they'd both assumed that Tom was illegitimate.

"Vegas marriage," Tom specified, "but it still counts as far as the courts are concerned."

Harry's brow furrowed. There was a story hiding here. He could feel it. He'd be sure to demand it when they finally had the chance to talk about what had transpired while they'd been apart.

His eyes were drawn to his phone once more, and he knew that there was no way Tom was going to relinquish it before he was satisfied. Which left Harry with damage control.

"Don't tell him anything!" Harry shouted in the phone's direction. " _Especially_ not about junior year."

Tom's eyebrow rose and he placed the phone to his ear.

"This is Tom Riddle," he introduced himself in a business-like tone. "To whom am I speaking?"

A pause, as he waited for a response, and Harry threw his arm over his eyes. This was a disaster on so many levels.

"A pleasure to speak with you," Tom said. "How do you both know Harry?"

Figuring that ignoring what was happening was only going to make things worse, Harry sat up as much as his potion would allow and decided to spend his time trying to overhear exactly what it was that Hermione and Ron were telling Tom.

"Ah," Tom said in response to whatever it was that Hermione and Ron had said in order to communicate that they had been friends in high school. "Oh, he has?" he said in response to whatever had just been said. Harry could tell by the quirk of his brow that it hadn't been anything good for his dignity. "Only good things, I hope."

Harry felt his anxiety about the situation take on new heights. Tom might be playing nice now, but he'd always been possessive. No doubt he would see any friends of Harry's as a threat to their relationship, especially with their reunion so recent. Oh, he'd play nice for now. But only in an effort to get as much information as possible about Harry out of his high school friends. Information they had in spades, which was part of what had Harry so worried.

It wasn't that Harry was trying to keep things from Tom. Not really. It was just that he wanted to be the one to tell Tom about certain things. There were some things Tom wasn't going to take well _at all_ , and Harry wanted to be sure the information was presented right. Avoid the buttons Ron and Hermione would press without knowing. Try and downplay certain events.

Also, he needed to keep them from even alluding to what they'd just been talking about by any means possible.

"…how happy he's been to reconnect with you," Hermione's tinny voice suddenly came through the speaker of Harry's phone, audible to him. "I don't think I've ever heard him so happy."

Harry had enough time to blush before two warm hands wrapped around his foot. He jerked his eyes away from where the phone now sat on Tom's desk to the man himself. He had just enough time to give his friend a questioning look before Tom's hands began to move.

Pleasure shot through Harry and he couldn't help the moan that escaped him. He knew he should be suspicious, should be concerned about what was happening, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. It just felt so wonderful.

"Harry?" Ron's strangled voice said, just barely cutting through the pleasure-induced haze Tom's foot massage had sent him into.

Harry mustered up just enough clarity to glare at Tom. The asshole responded by pressing his thumb into a spot that made Harry's spine melt.

"You were looking a little tense," Tom said, expression and voice completely innocent. "I thought this might help."

"Bastard," Harry managed to get out in a breathless voice.

"Inaccurate," Tom said, "and uncalled for. Really, Harry. I'm doing something nice for you. After traversing all of campus with luggage, your feet must hurt."

Ron let out a strangled noise, and Harry let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. That explained it, then. Tom was staking his claim. Warning the other two off by displaying _exactly_ how close they were.

"Now, Ron and Hermione. I'm delighted to have the chance to talk with both of you. I'm very curious about what Harry got up to after he moved away, and I'm sure you want to know what mischief he was involved in when he was younger. Perhaps we could trade stories?"

Harry mustered up the energy to sit up at that.

"Don't," he all but shouted in the direction of the phone.

Tom shot him a sharp look.

"I…I should be the one to tell you, is all. I want to be the one to tell you."

Tom's eyes softened, a dark edge Harry hadn't been aware of fading from his expression.

"I'll ask and you can veto certain stories, then," Tom said at last. "I can get their side of the story once I have yours. Acceptable?"

Harry nodded. It was better than he had expected to get.

Tom's answering smirk was both terrifying and attractive. It really wasn't fair.

"You two are his friends, obviously," Tom said. "How did you meet? Is there anyone else in your friend circle?"

"Hermione, you're not allowed to answer," Harry said immediately.

Tom's eyebrow shot up, clearly not have expected a veto quite so soon. Harry couldn't help grimacing slightly. He really wasn't looking forward to explaining high school. At all.

"Well, me and Harry are easy enough. We met on the bus freshman year. I shared my breakfast, and the rest is history. I didn't really get along with Hermione at first. She was a bit of a know-it-all then, and since I struggle with school, it really rubbed me the wrong way," Ron answered with honesty that probably would have surprised anyone who didn't know him well. "I was an asshole, and she got upset about something I said and got in some trouble because of it."

"Harry and Ron were the ones who realized I was in trouble and then helped me get out of it," Hermione said, the slowness of her response making it clear she was choosing her words with care. "And well, there are some things you can't go through without being friends afterwards."

Given the dark look Tom was leveling at the phone, his friend had some idea of what kind of things those might be. To distract him, Harry wiggled his foot a bit to get his attention before pressing it forward, a demanding look on his face. Tom rolled his eyes, but returned to his massaging with a furrowed brow and a clenched jaw.

"It isn't as bad as that thing with the river, if you're worried," Harry told him.

Both to let Tom know that has life hadn't really been at risk, and to remind his friend that for all he'd been through with Ron and Hermione, he'd gone through worse with Tom.

It worked. Tom's jaw unclenched and the wrinkles in his brow were less deep. The look he shot Harry made it clear he knew exactly what Harry was doing. Harry just smiled back at him, watching in satisfaction as Tom rolled his eyes in response.

"Romantic exploits?" Tom asked, when it became clear Hermione was done speaking.

Harry choked on air. He hadn't expected Tom to be this blunt about it with anyone but Harry. And he certainly hadn't expected the glint in Tom's eyes when he asked the question, eyes fixed on Harry.

Ron let out a snort, and Harry wanted to die.

"There was one awkward kiss at a christmas party under mistletoe," Hermione said, hidden glee in her voice. "And an even more awkward date. But I think that was it."

"Not for lack of trying," Ron scoffed.

Harry's brow furrowed.

"I wasn't trying," he said, confused and somewhat offended. He hadn't been one of those guys who chased after girls. Or boys.

"We know, Harry," Hermione said in a slightly exasperated voice. "And you never noticed that anyone else was, either."

"Poor Cedric," Ron said, but it wasn't sympathy in his voice, it was glee.

"What does Cedric have to do with anything?" Harry asked, feeling as if he were missing something and not particularly liking the feeling.

Hermione sighed and Ron laughed. Harry looked at Tom, hoping to find an ally but instead finding his friend smirking at him. Upon meeting Harry's gaze the smirk faded into a more genuine smile, Tom's eyes shining. With happiness, yes, but also something like victory. And there was definitely a predatory edge to his grin.

"What is that look for?" Harry asked, apprehensive.

Tom slid one of his hands up under Harry's jeans so that it rested on his bare calf. Harry sucked in a breath sharply through his teeth. The warmth of Tom's hand seeped into his skin and set his blood on fire. The look on Tom's face made his chest tight.

"I've never liked sharing, Harry," Tom said, voice sending a shiver down Harry's spine. "I am delighted that I have been your only first."

Harry's breath caught in his chest, barely paying attention as Ron and Hermione made their hasty goodbyes before the call disconnected. He was transfixed by the heat in Tom's eyes.

Tom let Harry's feet fall from his lap onto the floor as he slid off his desk, standing in the space between Harry's parted thighs. One predatory step closed the space between them, and Harry swallowed as he looked up at Tom looming over him. Tom leaned down, placing his hands on the chair just behind Harry's shoulders, caging him in. Tom's eyes were devastating this close, and the feeling of Tom's breath ghosting across Harry's face in a barely-there caress was enough to make him grateful he had the chair's support.

"If you don't want this," Tom whispered, lips just shy of touching Harry's own, "now is the time to tell me."

Harry reached out with unsteady hands, pressing one against Tom's shoulder blade and letting the fingers of the other find a home in Tom's hair.

"I've never wanted anything else," Harry told him, "I've never wanted _anyone_ else."

With a growl, Tom claimed his mouth in a bruising kiss.

It was nothing like the kiss they'd shared as children. The brief, innocent press of lips of two people who didn't know what they were doing. It wasn't like his kiss with Cho, either. That had just been…wet.

This, though. This was like liquid fire being poured into his veins. This was every nerve ending coming alive, every hair standing on end. Ten years of anticipation come to the perfect, bone-melting conclusion.

Tom pulled back only to brush his lips lightly over Harry's own in a barely there caress before angling his head slightly. Tom parted his lips and coaxed Harry's open before running his tongue lightly across Harry's lower lip. Trembling, Harry copied him, running his tongue lightly across Tom's lips, pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable it was.

Tom deepened the kiss, his tongue lightly pressing against Harry's own before running along it more firmly. Harry heard himself whimper, but didn't care. Pulling Tom as close to him as he could manage he reciprocated, feeling as if he was going to burst from his skin.

After several endless moments, Harry pulled his mouth away to fight for breath. Tom simply tilted his head and pressed his lips to the side of Harry's neck. Harry gasped as he felt Tom's teeth scrape his skin, a bolt of desire shooting through him.

Tom pulled away, but Harry could still feel his breath against his neck.

"I want to mark you," Tom murmured, kissing his way up Harry's neck to whisper directly in his ear, sending shivers down Harry's spine. "Show them all that you're taken. Let everyone know you belong to someone. That you belong to _me._ Let me mark you."

Each sentence had been interspersed with kisses, and Harry found it impossible to argue. He _liked_ the idea. That Tom valued him enough to want to mark him, to want to warn others off. Wanted to claim him.

"Yes" Harry managed to exhale. "Yes, do it."

Tom let out a pleased sound before applying himself once again to Harry's neck, teeth scraping and lips applying pressure in a way that Harry felt should have been uncomfortable. It wasn't though. Not at all. Harry fisted his hand in Tom's shirt and wound his fingers tighter in Tom's hair, arching his neck to give Tom easier access.

Tom pulled away at last, pressing a light kiss against the area he had just been applying himself to with single-minded focus. Harry did his best to collect himself as Tom trailed kisses up his neck and along his jaw before pressing his lips to Harry's once more. This kiss was much shorter than the first, lasting brief moments before Tom pulled back, resting his forehead against Harry's.

"My Harry," he murmured, eyes dark with pleasure and lips swollen, satisfaction practically oozing off him. "Shall we move this somewhere more comfortable?"

Harry's mouth went dry at the question. He was aroused, it was true. More so than he could ever recall being in his life. He was attracted to Tom. That much had been obvious since they'd reunited. He trusted Tom. He always had. He'd told the truth before. He'd never wanted anyone the way he wanted Tom. There was no one else he could imagine sharing this with.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded.

Tom took a half step back, stretching his back as he straightened. He held out his hand to Harry, eyes smoldering. Harry gave his own to Tom without thought and found himself pulled up directly into Tom's embrace before his lips were claimed once again. They worked their way over towards the bed slowly, pressed close together, exchanging kisses as they walked.

Harry felt the backs of his thighs hit the frame of Tom's bed. Pulling back, he sank down onto the mattress. Tom's knee came to rest next to his thigh, one of Tom's hands wrapped in his hair as he kissed him again.

Tom pulled back long enough to toe off his shoes before hovering over Harry once again, placing a hand on his shoulders and pushing him down onto the bed.

Letting out an unsteady breath, Harry pulled his feet onto the bed and wriggled slightly until he was lying comfortably, mouth dry as he stared up at the ceiling. He was doing this. He was really doing this.

He felt his weight shifting on the mattress as Tom's knees came to rest on either side of his thighs, the man staring down at him with hunger.

Tom's hands came to rest on his chest, running his hands over Harry's pectorals and across his stomach. Harry shivered, Tom's caress potent even though the fabric of his shirt. No one had ever touched him like this.

"There's no need to be so anxious, dearest," Tom told him, tracing patterns as he trailed his fingers over Harry's torso. "There will be no deflowering quite yet. I plan to savor you, and there isn't enough time for all the things I want to do to you before I take you."

The word take was emphasized with a thrust of his hips, bringing Tom's groin into contact with Harry's own. All Harry could do was gasp as heat shot through him, the feeling of Tom's hardness rubbing against his own enough to have his fingers clenched in the sheets, seeking some sort of anchor.

Tom removed his hands from Harry's shirt only to place them on the hem of his own. Harry managed to organize his thoughts enough to prop himself up on his forearms, staring avidly at the skin slowly being revealed. Tom was pale, but not unhealthily so. Toned muscles that looked like something out of a magazine had his mouth watering, but this wasn't what effecting him the most. Pale, barely there, but still noticeable if you knew where to look. Scars. Most of them familiar, some of them not. Tom had clearly done everything he could to try and remove them entirely.

Harry reached out with a trembling hand to press his fingers against a small collection of red dots against Tom's stomach. Cigarette burns. A souvenir from one of his foster parents. Those he was familiar with. He let his fingers trail up from Tom's stomach to his chest until he came to one he didn't recognize. A small, thin red line, no more than an inch that ran across Tom's left pectoral.

"What did this?" Harry asked, running his fingers along the line.

"A knife," Tom answered simply.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath at that and pushed himself upright to examine the wound more closely. It didn't look like it had been particularly deep, but it still troubled him. The idea of anyone going after Tom with a knife was not one that sat well with him at all.

Tom's body told a story. Of all the years they'd been apart, of some of the adventures they'd had together. Evidence of his friend's history written across his skin. Harry wanted to learn all of it.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to the scar tissue, taking note of the way Tom's breath hitched. Feeling bold, he continued, kissing his way across Tom's chest, mapping skin with his hands. He would linger anywhere that caused a notable reaction, relishing in his ability to undo even a bit of Tom's control. His nipples weren't particularly sensitive, but the accidental scrape of Harry's teeth against his collar bones had actually made Tom growl.

Tom's fingers wrapped in his hair, and he pulled Harry up for a kiss that completely undid him.

"My turn," Tom said, voice rough with barely restrained lust.

His fingers rested on the hem of Harry's t-shirt, eyes seeking out Harry's own for a beat before pulling it up.

Harry froze the moment it became clear what Tom intended. He'd always done everything in his power to keep his shirt on. In bed, swimming, even in the locker room he changed in the privacy of a stall rather than risk anyone seeing what he kept hidden under the fabric.

Harry's eyes fell on the small cluster of dots. Tom already knew. Tom would understand.

Taking a deep breath, Harry's hands joined Tom's on the hem of his shirt, and the two worked it over his head. Harry closed his eyes, unwilling to watch Tom's reaction to seeing his bare skin.

There was no noise but the sound of their breathing. Instead of questions or demands or wordless noises of rage, there was the muted sensation of fingers tracing along familiar patches of skin. Running along each and every scar in turn, cataloging them all. The hand withdrew, and Harry screwed his eyes even tighter shut until the sensation of a puff of breath hovering over one of the oldest scars had his eyes popping open in surprise. Tom was bent over his chest, and his eyes met Harry's. They were burning with a confusing mixture of emotions. There was anger, yes, the kind of rage that should have scared him but never did, since he knew it was never directed at him. But there were other things too. A strange sort of pride, and something soft that shattered the hastily erected walls Harry was attempting to hide behind. Tom leaned down and pressed his lips to the scar, kissing his way along it. His lips retraced the path his fingers had taken, mapping all of Harry's imperfections.

When Tom was finished, he turned his attention instead to Harry's mouth, kissing him until he was boneless once again. The tension he'd felt after exposing himself had been banished by Tom's deliberate and determined kisses.

"My survivor," Tom whispered against Harry's mouth when he pulled away, forehead resting against Harry's own. "You've been through so much. Those _animals,"_ Tom spat the word, "did everything they could to break you. But you're here. You're with me. God, Harry, you don't know your own strength."

He stopped here to give Harry a deep kiss, and it was impossible to believe he was anything but sincere.

"That you are who you are after all you've been through," Tom reached up to brush Harry's hair out of his face, "I'm in awe of you."

"Tom," Harry breathed out, voice raw and unsteady.

"No more," Tom promised him with another soft kiss. "No more scars. I will let no harm come to you. My Harry, my strong, brave, beloved. I will punish all who dared to touch you, exact vengeance on your behalf. Cherish and treasure you, as you deserve to be cherished."

To his mortification, Harry felt his eyes begin to burn. To be at his most exposed, the most vulnerable he'd ever been and to have that vulnerability met with reverence was more than he could handle. He covered his face with one hand, taking deep, unsteady breaths as he struggled for some measure of control.

"None of that now," Tom said softly, shifting on the bed until Harry could feel him pressed up against his side. "Don't hide. Not from me."

Harry felt fingers wrapping around his wrist before firmly pulling it away. Tom was propped up on his side, grey eyes fixed intently on Harry's face. His wrist was released, and Tom's hand came up and brushed Harry's hair out of his face.

"You've seen all of me, Harry. Every dark, twisted piece. I kept waiting for you to run, but you never did. You saw it all and you _stayed_."

"You've seen all of me too," Harry said. "Pieces I've never shown anyone. I think you're the only one who's ever just seen me for me. Just…Harry."

"You're not _just_ anything," Tom said, cupping Harry's face in his hand. "You are _everything_. You always have been. You always will be."

Tom's eyes were bright, the darker parts of him dragged to the forefront.

This was his Tom. Dark and dangerous. Fierce, in all things. Including love.

"Last chance," Tom said, voice hoarse as he looked down at Harry. "If you leave now, I can still let you go. But any further and you'll never be rid of me."

"Lair," Harry told him, smiling. "You were never going to let me go regardless."

Tom smiled, sharp and dangerous.

"No, I wasn't."

Tom leaned down and pressed a long, lingering kiss to Harry's lips.

"You're _mine_ , Harry James Potter," Tom said when he pulled away.

Harry honestly couldn't think of anything he wanted to be more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy Yule everyone! I'm sorry it's been so long since I last updated this, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.** **Also, it hasn't been edited too closely, so please forgive any mistakes.**

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Bartemius Crouch Junior stood, plastic tray in hand, staring at the sight in front of him. Harry Potter was sitting alone at the very end of one of the speckled dining hall tables. The familiar blazer thrown over the back of the chair beside him made it clear that he would not be alone for long, but that only made things more puzzling. This afternoon had thrown his understanding of his Lord completely through a loop. Harry Potter was a piece of the puzzle, but Barty had no idea how he fit into the picture he had been painstakingly putting together of his leader.

Barty had never before given any thought to what Riddle had been like growing up. It was hard to imagine him as anything other than what he was, an intelligent, astute, ruthless man. One who was laying the groundwork for a vast empire. Imagining him a child was impossible.

But he had been. He had been a child. And now here was someone who had been there for those formative years. Someone who had been part of them. Someone who had clearly been important.

Someone, Barty had realized as he watched the two interact earlier that day, who would be important again. Riddle's intent had been obvious, which in and of itself had been a surprise. The hunger in his gaze when he looked at the man under his arm earlier had been an almost palpable thing. It wasn't a question of if Harry Potter would end up in his bed, but a question of when. And from what Barty had seen, unlike all who had come before him, Harry Potter would be staying there.

Barty took a deep breath before walking forward, closing the space between them until he stood across the table from the boy who had thrown everything into chaos.

"Hello Harry," Barty said, careful to keep his tone respectful. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Harry gave a small jerk of surprise. He looked up from where his finger had been tracing patterns against the tabletop and gave him a somewhat sheepish grin. It became wider and something more genuine when he recognized the man speaking to him.

"Not at all," he said cheerfully. "Barty, right?"

Barty nodded as he slid his tray onto the table before taking a seat across from Harry.

"How's orientation going so far?" Barty asked, using small talk as cover as he examined the man in front of him.

He'd made a study of Harry when they'd first been introduced. He was attractive, if perhaps a bit too skinny, with long limbs and messy hair and bright eyes, but Riddle had never before been swayed by a pretty face. Harry's clothes had been of good quality and had fit him well. Most shockingly of all, however, had been his ease with Riddle, his comfort not only in the man's presence but the easy physical contact the two made.

All of that was still true, but his hair was even messier than it had been before, and the column of his throat now bore a collection of red marks and his lips were slightly swollen. Riddle worked fast, apparently.

"It could definitely be better," Harry said, a wry smile on his lips. "The smirks are getting old really fast, but if Tom's smug, he's not irritated, so that's something at least."

Barty had the good grace to blush a little with embarrassment at having been caught. He was going to apologize, but something about the expression on Harry's face stopped him. Instead, he found himself shrugging and giving an unrepentant grin. He was rewarded with a laugh, and his smile widened at the sight of sparkling green eyes. His companion abruptly became more serious, and Barty found himself sitting up straighter.

"Tom's impatient," Harry warned him. "He and I haven't really had a chance to talk, or a chance to…" here Harry flushed bright red, "spend a lot of time together," Harry finished carefully.

Barty raised one brow, looking pointedly at the marks on Harry's neck.

"We didn't manage to get much further than that before orientation started," Harry said, eyes fixed on the tabletop and cheeks still pink. Harry raised his gaze, staring at Barty seriously. "He and I keep getting interrupted, and his temper's getting shorter as a result. Just…be careful. I think he's going to be on edge until we managed to get all of this settled."

Barty felt cold suddenly. Tom Riddle, sexually frustrated and on edge was not something he wanted to deal with.

Harry took a look at the expression on his face and let out a snort of laughter.

"Sorry. I just…your face. I know he's scary, but you look like you're standing in front of a firing squad."

That was a remarkably accurate description of how he was feeling actually, for all that the imagery wasn't quite right.

"It's more like you just told me I'll be playing Russian roulette for the next week, except there's bullets in every chamber but one."

Barty began swearing internally even as the words left his mouth. He shouldn't have said that. He really shouldn't have said that. Especially not to Riddle's newest conquest.

Harry laughed. Harry laughed so hard his shoulders began to shake and his face flushed. Barty found himself helpless to do anything but join in.

"I imagine that's exactly what it's like, yeah," Harry said with a grin once the laughter had died down.

"Dare I ask what's so funny?" a familiar voice asked.

Barty could hear his heartbeat in his ears as Riddle approached the table, the laughter of moments before now ashes in his mouth. Riddle placed two trays on the table, one in front of his empty chair and the other in front of Harry. Barty stared, dumbstruck. Riddle was someone who never did favors for others unless it somehow benefited himself. Even then, those favors were never anything that could be construed as subservient.

Fetching food for someone else definitely fell under that category.

"I was laughing at you," Harry said, grinning at Riddle as he took his seat. "And at Barty. Barty was really just hysterical. You're going to give him a nervous breakdown at this rate."

"My behavior may be the trigger, but any nervous breakdowns are clearly going to be your fault," Riddle replied easily as he sank gracefully down into his seat.

"Probably," Harry said with a small grin. He looked down at his tray and his brow wrinkled before he shot Tom a look.

Barty found himself glancing at Harry's tray as well. What he found there shocked him.

Instead of the typical faire of a sandwich or a burger from the grill, there was a bowl on Harry's tray. Soup was always offered, but Harry's bowl seemed to contain nothing but the broth. There were two glasses on Harry's tray, both of which contained milk. And that was all.

"Start with the milk," Tom said, acting as if he didn't even notice the glare Harry was giving him.

"Are you kidding me."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Riddle turned and faced Harry, expression serious and intense in a way that had all the hairs on Barty's neck standing on end.

"Do you want to get into this right now?" Riddle asked, gesturing obviously at Barty with a tilt of his head. "Because I will. It's your choice."

"I am perfectly willing to discuss your ridiculous micromanaging in front of Barty," Harry snapped, crossing his arms over his chest, still glaring.

"When was the last time you had a full meal?" Riddle asked Harry, exaggerated casual air setting off every warning bell in Barty's head.

Harry just glared in response.

"That was not a rhetorical question, Harry," Riddle said, his voice hard. "When was the last time you had a full meal?"

"Last Tuesday," Harry said, but his tone turned the words into a fuck you.

Barty stared at him, dumbfounded. You didn't talk to Riddle like that. You just didn't. The last time someone had casually disrespected the man, they'd ended up in the hospital. Nothing that could lead back to him, obviously. He was too good for that. But they all knew.

Then the words themselves sunk in, and Barty blanched. That was a little over a week. An eating disorder, maybe? Barty had noticed himself that Potter was too skinny. Judging by Riddle's expression, he wasn't pleased by that state of affairs.

Clearly this confrontation had been planned.

A conversation of a deeply personal nature was unfolding in front of him. One Riddle would never have allowed in front of Barty if he hadn't wanted Barty there for some reason. Barty had no idea what that reason could be, and that only served to wind him up further.

But it wasn't his job to know. It was simply his job to carry out Riddle's desires. Taking initiative could wait until he had a better sense of this new landscape.

"That's honestly better then I was expecting," Tom said. "Did the Dursleys have a change of heart?"

Potter said nothing, instead crossing his arms and glaring hard at Tom.

"Ah. Not the Dursleys. Obviously. Your friend Ronald?"

Harry's jaw clenched.

"Regardless, that isn't the point. Tell me Harry," Tom asked, leaning back in an exaggeratedly display of relaxation, "have you heard of refeeding syndrome?"

Barty froze, suddenly understanding. He was premed, at his father's insistence, for all that Tom had assured him he'd be able to do whatever he wanted by the time he graduated. Still, that didn't prevent him from doing the best he could in the courses he was forced to attend to placate his father.

Refeeding syndrome happened when someone who had been without adequate nutrition for a long time began eating regularly again. It was a serious problem, if not handled carefully. Electrolyte and fluid issues were common, as were complications in various systems throughout the body.

Potter had apparently been starved, if he hadn't eaten a full meal in over a week. And if Barty was interpreting the conversation correctly, it was not an eating disorder as he had first assumed, but as a result of being actively denied food. That Riddle knew enough to be concerned about refeeding syndrome suggested it had gone on for years.

His insistence on Barty's presence for the conversation suddenly made a great deal more sense. As a pre-med student, Barty would be more likely to notice the signs of something going wrong than someone else. That his floor and Riddle's would be paired together for many of the orientation activities gave him more access to Potter than anyone other than Riddle would have. Clearly Riddle was expecting him to keep an eye on Potter to be certain no complications developed, a task Barty was uniquely suited to.

Harry crossed his arms and openly glared at Riddle.

"No. But I'm sure you're going to enlighten me," Harry spat.

"Suddenly reintroducing food to the system after long periods of starvation can have devastating consequences," Riddle told him, his exaggeratedly casual air making Barty clench his fist under the table. "So, broth and milk. At least until we see how your system tolerates that."

Harry just glared at him, looking very much as if he was contemplating dumping the broth on Riddle's head.

"Would you rather be admitted to the hospital? I must confess that having you under medical supervision while food was being reintroduced to your system would be my preference."

Harry, still glaring, reached out and grabbed one of the glasses of milk. For a long moment, Barty though he really was going to dump the thing on Riddle's head. Instead, to Barty's immense relief, he raised it to his lips and took an incredibly angry sip. Barty hadn't known that a sip could be angry, but Harry had proved him wrong.

"Liar," Harry said, setting his glass back down.

Barty choked on air. You didn't talk to Tom Riddle like that. You just didn't. Not without consequences.

Riddle's only response was to arch an eyebrow.

"If I was in the hospital, we couldn't finish what we stared earlier."

"True as that may be, I wouldn't risk your health," Riddle answered.

"So this is not so much a compromise between you and me as it is a compromise between your desire to keep me safe and..." Harry stuttered to a stop, his face turning red.

"My desire?" Tom asked, brow raised and lips curled into a lascivious smirk.

Harry just glared at him in response.

"Is there a reason it can't be both at once?" Riddle asked.

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. "You are just..." he made a wordless noise of frustration before slouching back against his chair.

Riddle didn't say anything, but Barty watched with wide eyes as he reached out and grabbed Harry's hand in his own before bringing it up and pressing a lingering kiss to the back of Harry's hand, eyes fixed on Harry's own.

Barty, not for the first time since he'd sat down, wished intensely that he was anywhere else. The look being exchanged between Riddle and Harry was something intensely private. The way Harry was softening in response felt far too intimate for anyone else to be witness to, the look Riddle was giving him something impossible.

"You're a bastard," Harry said, but his voice was soft.

"I'm your bastard," Riddle replied, running his thumb along the back of Harry's hand in a subtle caress before bringing their joined hands under the table.

Harry looked at him for a long moment.

"You really are, aren't you?" he said, his green eyes usually bright.

"A bastard?" Riddle asked with a quirked brow. "I thought we cleared that up."

"Mine," Harry said.

"Obviously," Riddle drawled. "Just like you're mine."

Barty gripped the edge of his chair, knuckles bleached white. Holy shit. Holy shit. Riddle calling Harry his was no surprise. Riddle had always been possessive. But...Tom Riddle was not the sort to tolerate belonging to someone else. Him admitting as much?

Harry Potter was a force to be reckoned with.

The force in question blushed crimson before hiding himself as best he could behind his glass of milk.

"How long is it going to be before I can have real food again?" Harry asked as he set his glass back down on the table, a resigned expression on his face.

"Three days," Riddle said. "And we'll be stopping by the health center to get bloodwork every evening, just to make sure there aren't any red flags. There's a nurse practitioner who owes me a favor."

Harry blew out a breath. "Fine. But I'm sleeping in my own room tonight."

Riddle froze and his eyes narrowed.

"That's the deal," Harry said, leaning back and crossing his arms, chin tilted stubbornly upward. "I need to start getting used to my room and getting to know my roommate."

The word roommate had Riddles' eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly and Barty spared a moment to be sorry for the poor bastard who'd had the misfortune to be roomed with Harry Potter. The poor freshman had no idea what he was in for.

"It's either that or I go check myself into the hospital right now," Harry said, one eyebrow lifted in silence challenge.

Riddle met his gaze with a calculating look that had Barty wanting to dive for cover, but Harry simply stared back at him as if it were nothing.

"Fine," Riddle said, leaning backwards a slightly smug smile pulling at his lips. "You sleep in your room tonight. Hell, you can even sleep in your room for the rest of the week. But after the activity on Friday, I'm stealing you."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Fine," Harry said.

"Excellent," Riddle said, a smug grin on his lips, leaning back. "Now, have you figured out your course schedule yet?"

Harry reached up and ran the hand not currently under the table through his hair.

"Christ, you're going to be worse than Hermione, aren't you?" Harry asked, a resigned look on his face but a grin on his lips.

"Oh, undoubtedly," Riddle said with a shark's grin. "In every possible way."

The rest of the meal was spent hammering out the specifics of Harry's first year schedule. Barty had taken to the topic with relish, sensing something familiar and grabbing onto it with both hands.

"Right," Barty said several minutes, glancing at the Rolex on his wrist. "It's about time to round up the firsties."

Riddle said nothing, but Barty could see him clenching his jaw. It was no secret that Riddle loathed dealing with orientation. The man had very little patience for stupidity, and Barty had to admit that there was an overabundance of it during orientation.

Harry reached out and ran his hands through Riddle's hair in a soothing motion.

"It's not all bad, is it? I mean, you found a way to turn icebreakers into reconnaissance. That's impressive."

"Child's play," Riddle returned, though Barty could see that his shoulders had lowered fractionally under Potter's care and his head was angled a fraction more in the other boy's direction, giving him better access. "And I won't be able to properly use the information for months."

"Poor mastermind," Harry said, but he was smiling. "Putting up with us mere mortals. How ever will you survive?"

Riddle turned and gave Harry a very unimpressed look, but he received only a smile in return.

"It's just the fire safety demo left, right?" Harry said, running his hand through Riddle's hair one last time before withdrawing. "Then you and I can go back to your room and finish getting caught up. Just another hour, and you don't even have to play nice. You can sit there and plot sinister deeds."

Riddle's only response was to lean down a press a kiss to Potter's lips, and Barty found himself glancing nervously around the dinning hall. Their section was practically empty save for their groups of first years, and they were all too absorbed in each other and their own anxieties to pay any mind to what the RA was up to. Still, Riddle needed to be careful. If anyone reported that he was dating one of his residents, there would be consequences. Riddle was the golden boy and had the entire Residential Life staff under his spell, so he likely wouldn't face any true consequences. Still, relationships between RAs and residents were strictly forbidden. No matter how much they liked Riddle, they wouldn't just sweep it under the rug. Not if there was an official report. Riddle would get a slap on the wrist, but Potter, Potter would be moved to a different dorm.

After seeing them together, watching the way Riddle was transformed simply by Harry's presence, Barty had no doubt any such move would be a complete disaster. Which meant it would be up to him to be viligent and ensure that no such report made its way to Res Life, for everyone's sake.

"Right," Harry said, a blush on his cheeks. "I'm, er, just going to run to the bathroom and then rejoin the others, then."

Riddle's eyes followed him avidly until he disappeared from sight. The second Harry was out of sight, however, Riddle sat upright, posture perfect. His eyes found Barty's, and he had to fight the urge to swallow nervously. Such displays of weakness in front of Riddle were never a good choice.

"I'll watch your group during the fire safety demonstration," Riddle told him, eyes hard and cold. "There's an errand you need to run."

"Of course" Barty said, just managing to check the "My lord". They were in public, and such acknowledgement's of Riddle's role would only create problems.

"The admissions office," Riddle told him, jaw set. "Harry's records. I want everything, no matter how irrelevant you think it is. Including his medical records. As soon as possible, of course, but his home address is a priority. In addition, I want you to start using our connections to find anything on the Dursley family. Dudley Dursley, age eighteen, Vernon Dursley, age forty-four, and Petunia Dursley nee Evans, age forty one. I already have people looking, but they should be able to narrow their searches with the information in Harry's file."

Barty blinked, doing his best to hide his shock. There had to be a point at which he got saturated. He knew that. Still, apparently, they hadn't reached it yet. Riddle had apparently been looking for Harry for quite some time. And using the connections of the Knights of Walprugis to do so.

Who the hell was this boy? What made him so important to Riddle?

"Of course," Barty said, nodding, mind already flicking through possibilities.

It was still before the start of the semester, which meant it would largely be staff and not student workers, which was unfortunate. The Knights had bribed and blackmailed enough of the work study students that during the school year it was simple enough to get access to what he needed. The staff would be a little trickier.

"What are you still doing standing here, Barty?" Riddle asked, voice cold.

Barty paled, but gave a small nod of apology, unable to bow in public, before turning on his heel and all but sprinting towards the administrative building. He kept up the pace the entire way - Riddle had eyes and ears everywhere, and Barty was terrified of crossing him on a normal basis. He suspected that doing so when it came to Harry would be nothing short of suicidal.

The administrative building appeared before him, all white brick and arches and black accents. Barty hustled up the steps and pushed the door open, only allowing himself to stop once he was in front of the elevator, waiting for it arrive.

He needed a plan. He needed a plan and he needed one quickly, if he wanted to avoid being punished for failing his lord. It wasn't just fear that motivated him, however. Riddle...Riddle had freed him. Riddle had taken one look at Barty and had seen what no one else had seen before - his unhappiness, his loneliness, the way he felt as if he had been crushed by his father, as if he were still being crushed. Every aspect of his life was controlled by the man, and Barty hated him with a passion. Still, Barty had no way to get out from under this thumb. Not while his mother was still married to the monster. Not while his father's name and money could close every door just as quickly as they'd been open.

Riddle had seen him, had somehow seen what he had been through. Riddle had offered Barty what no one else ever had before - freedom.

Harry.

Harry had been abused for years. Abused from a young age. Riddle had no doubt watched it and seethed, too young to really do anything.

Riddle had seen what he had seen because he'd learned to read the signs from Harry. Perhaps had saved helped him because he had been unable to save Harry.

If he was right...he owed Harry just as much as he owed Riddle.

He wouldn't fail.

The elevator doors opened to admissions, and Barty took a deep breath before making his way to the bench just outside the are sectioned off with half-windowed walls, pulling out his phone so as not to arouse suspicion. Pulling up his email just in case someone happened to look over his shoulder, Barty casually leaned back so that he could see into the room.

He couldn't help but smirk when he saw the name on the door of the newest admissions officer. It seemed his father had been excercising his influence again. This would be ridiculously easy.

He put his phone back in his pocket and made his way to the admissions office, stopping at the desk manned by a young woman he'd never seen before and giving her a charming smile.

Barty knew he was handsome. Not as handsome as Riddle, it was true. But he was more than capable of being charming when it mattered.

"Hello," he said, grinning down at her, watching as her eyes dilated and a subtle flush rose to her face. "Is Bertha in? Bertha Jorkens, I mean. She'd an old friend of the family, and when I heard she was going to be working here, I thought I'd stop by and pay her a visit."

"Let me just check," the girls said, flustered. A recent graduate if Barty didn't miss his guess. Barty might have flirted with her, perhaps dated her for awhile for her access. Still, with Bertha here, that would be unnecessary. "Sorry, what was the name."

"Bartemus Crouch," he said, using his full name, which he hated, and leaving off the suffix. No doubt she would think he was his father, which is exactly as he wanted it.

She picked up the phone and informed Bertha of his presence, and Barty could hear the screeching even from here as she urged the woman to hurry up and send him in already, why on Earth had she made him wait at all. He didn't bother trying to hide his smirk.

The woman hung up the phone, looking frazzled.

"You can go right in, Mr. Crouch," she told him.

"Thank you," Barty said with a smile before he made his way to Bertha's office.

He didn't bother knocking the door. His father never would have. Instead he barged right in on her before closing the door behind him and locking it. Bertha's face, which had been lit up a moment before, morphed to confusion as she looked back and forth between him and the locked door before almost visibly shrugging his behavior off.

God, the woman was stupid.

Stupid and nosy. Rather the perfect combination for the sort of things the Knights would need. Not to mention that Barty knew things that would absolutely ruin her should anyone find out. This was a boon on a number of levels.

"Hello, Barty," she said. "What a surprise. I was expecting your father."

"Apologies for the confusion," he said smoothly. "It happens more often than you'd think, what with us having the same name and all."

"Of course," she said. "Oh, do please sit down. It's been a long time since we had the chance to chat. Your father's Christmas party last year, wasn't it?"

Barty nodded, taking a seat in the chair across from the desk.

"Listen, Bertha, I was hoping you could do me a favor."

"Of course," she said, eyes dull and stupid as ever. "Anything for a Crouch."

Barty did his best not to be irritated by that fact. He was more than just his name, incredibly accomplished all on his own despite his father's interference. Still, the name would be useful in the future, opening all sorts of doors when he was head of the family.

"I was hoping you could get me the complete file of a student. A freshman, by the name of Harry Potter."

She gave a tittering laugh at that.

"Barty dear, your father may have gotten you this job, but even for you I really can't bend the rules that far."

"Are you certain? You seem to be an expert at bending rules. Why, wasn't it you who got a little too drunk in the wrong bar when you were working in my father's precinct and gave away all sorts of departmental information? And then somehow managed to blame it all on a poor rookie who ended up arrested for his part in destroying several operations and costing an undercover cop his life?"

It had been Peter Pettigrew, an ex-cop Riddle had somehow had in his pocket even before he was even inducted into the knights, let alone become their Lord. It was Riddle who had used the information, sharing it with interest parties, making connections and earning favors with an eye to the future.

Bertha had grown paler and paler with every word he said, and she was all but trembling behind her desk.

"It would be a shame," Barty said, leaning forward with crossed hands, "if my father were to hear about all that. Especially after he got you this job after you were asked to leave the station. Something about incompetence, I hear. Still, being his goddaughter will only take you so far."

"What was the name?" she asked, her face still ashen and her voice trembling.

"Harry Potter," Barty said, leaning back and crossing his legs, not bothering to hide his smirk. "Everything you have on him, please. If you could make photocopies as well, that would be ideal, since I need to take the file with me, and I imagine it might cause problems if it were missing."

Bertha hurried out, and Barty pulled out his phone with a smile on his face.

Got what you need, Barty typed, knowing that discression was the best move with text messages. And ran into Bertha Jorkins, an old family friend. Head of admissions, if you can believe it.

He received a reply almost immediately.

I look forward to hearing all about it. I'm certain you and Ms. Jorkins will have lots to chat about during the year.

Barty smirked and put his phone back in his pocket, just as Bertha returned, an enormous pile of papers in her hands.

"That's an unusually large file," Barty said, straightening up.

"Mr. Potter was an...unusual student, from the glimpses I got while copying the file," Bertha said, her voice still shaky. "Letter of recommendation from the local chief of police and the headmaster of his school, both quite long. And at least a third of this seems to be his medical records.

Barty held out his hand in a silent demanded for the papers, and Bertha practically dumped the large stack on him.

"I think I'll go ahead and skim these here, if that isn't a problem," Barty told her, arranging the files into some resemblance of order before placing them on his lap for easy perusal.

"Of course not. Feel free," she said. "I was planning to run out to get lunch. Of course, you can use the office as long as you need, Barty."

"Thank you, Bertha," he said, giving her a large smile. "I look forward to catching up again some time."

She gave him a grimace in response that was clearly supposed to be a smile, her face pale once again.

"I look forward to it," she said before she all but fled out the door.

Barty stood up crossed the room, making himself comfortable at Bertha's desk. He put the stack of papers down, thumbing through them and seperating out the medical file. It was alarmingly thick.

Bracing himself, Barty looked down at the first page.

Hospital records, starting when Harry was five. Broken bones. His arm, his wrist, his ribs, his nose, each of them more than once...all explained away. A clumsy, careless boy, the notes all said. According to the boy's Aunt. A picky eater. She was doing everything she could to try and get his weight up, did the doctor's have any suggestions.

It turned Barty's stomach. The patterned continued up through high school, as far as Barty could tell. No wonder Riddle wanted to find these people. Hell, Barty had known Harry all of one afternoon, and he wanted to find them himself.

Then, once high school started, the records changed. And not for the better. Harry had been admitted to the hospital at the end of his freashman year of highschool, and the notes that were attached were...alarming. He'd nearly died and had needed not one but two surgeries. Only luck and timing had kept him alive, if Barty was reading it right.

Most alarming of all, however, was the small number at the bottom. A police report. There was a police report associated with these injuries. Stomach turning, he jotted down the file number on a post-it note. Taking a deep breath, Barty turned the page. To his horror, he found another hospital file from the next year. Harry's hospitalization had only been for three days this time around, but once again there was a police report attached. Barty jotted the second number down below the first.

Bracing himself, Barty turned the next page and swore aloud when he saw yet another hospital report. If it was possible, it was even worse than all the rest, for all that the injuries were relatively minor. Still, the nature of the wounds was horrifying. Damage to Harry's hands from electrical shock. The file noted that Harry had apparently been beaten on the hands with a live wire that had a low level of current and amperage running through it. Low enough that to cause the damage and scaring they'd seen, he'd have to have been beaten with it repeatedly.

And yet again, there was a police report.

"God, Harry," Barty said burying his hands in his hair. "You're going to send him into a fucking rampage, and he's going to drag the rest of us after him."

Still, Barty wouldn't have to be dragged very hard. After seeing these files, he was contemplating a bit of a rampage himself. Anyone would.

Barty wrote down the third police report number on his now rather crowded post-it. Bracing himself, he turned over the last page.

Just a routine physical and vaccinations. Thank god.

Heaving a deep breath, Barty reached out and picked up the phone on Bertha's desk, the post-it in his hand. He had a ridiculous number of police contacts, what with his father having been the Chief of Police for several years before he made the move into politics. Barty would gather as much detail as possible before handing the information over to Riddle, or he would be sure to suffer in his role as messenger.

This was going to be a long two hours, and he was going to need every minute of them.

One thing was certain - Harry Potter was going to change everything.

* * *

 **Comments keep me going, and I'm having a rough time of it as of late, so if you have a minute I would love to know what you thought. Also, I promise we'll start getting into Harry's background next chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**This update is thanks to flightofmorning over on tumblr, who successfully guessed my old username.**

 **We begin to go over Harry's high school shenanigans, and will for the next several chapters, but there will always be Tom/Harry interaction (well, mostly REaction from Tom, but still)**

 **I hope it doesn't disappoint!**

* * *

Harry staggered through the smoke filled building, eyes burning behind his glasses. He reached out and pressed his hand against the wall, using it to steady himself and keep him from missing the exit. There was shouting and yelling, which he did his best to filter out.

There. This was where the door to the stairwell should be.

The heavy fire door had already been pushed open by the person before him, and it was easy for Harry to reach out and keep it open with one forceful shove. An RA was waiting just inside the door, all but shoving him towards the exit.

Harry staggered out the door, still reeling a little from the RA's shove and the smell of the smoke. Not wanting to be in the way of the rest of the people leaving the building, Harry took four steps to the side, propping himself up against the brick wall of the building.

"So?" a familiar voice drawled, and Harry looked up with a grin to find Tom approaching. "How was your escape from the burning building?"

Tom leaned against the wall, the hint of a smile on his face.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Nothing like the real thing," Harry said thoughtlessly, only to flinch once he realized exactly what he'd just said.

Shit. He wasn't used to having to watch himself around Tom. He'd made far too many slip ups, too comfortable in Tom's presence to keep himself on guard.

Tom's posture remained relaxed, but Harry saw the way his eyes sharped and his jaw clenched. Never a good sign, in his experience.

"Oh?" Tom asked, his tone one of polite interest, but Harry knew him better than that. It was only their very public location and his promise to tell Tom everything once they were in private that kept the man from ripping into him then and there, prying the incident out of Harry by whatever means necessary.

Still, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"The smoke wasn't thick enough," Harry said with a shrug. "Why did it smell and taste like maple syrup?"

It was a poor attempt at deflection, but he was curious.

"An additive they put in the smoke machine. Actually, more likely an impurity or a result of not cleaning it properly. I doubted they wanted the simulated smoke to taste sweet."

"Unless they were trying to keep people from panicking," Harry pointed out. "The sweet smell would help be a reminder." Harry frowned. "I mean, that would defeat the purpose for the participants..."

Harry trailed off with a shrug, not really sure where the train of thought was going. He caught sight of a set of files under Tom's arms and glanced up at his...at Tom. He hadn't had any files during the assembly, and for all the long to run through the "burning" dorm was long, it wasn't _that_ long.

"What're those?" Harry asked.

"Ah," Tom said, and his tone of voice made Harry regret the question instantly. "These," he said, holding up the stack of folders, "would be your records. Barty went ahead and made copies for me while we were sitting through that ridiculous assembly."

Harry blanched.

"There are rather a lot of them, aren't there?" Tom said in a genial tone of voice, thumbing through the stacks of paper. "I've seen a number of student files in my day, and I've never seen one this thick. Most are perhaps five pages total. My own numbers perhaps ten. I must stay, I'm impressed."

Screwed. He was so, so screwed. And not in the good way.

But they were going to have this conversation sooner or later, and putting it off was just going to make it worse. Not just for Harry, but for everyone else as well. Tom was running out of patience, _fast_.

"Can we cut out now?" Harry asked.

Tom's response was to reach out and grab Harry by the bicep. His grip didn't loosen for even a moment as he dragged Harry back across campus to their dorm. It was only once they were safely ensconced in Tom's room that the man released him, throwing the files down on the desk before he rounded on Harry once again. The expression on his face was dangerous, all his barely surprised rage visible in his eyes as he stalked forward.

Harry swallowed, but not out of fear. That expression wasn't for Harry. That expression had never been for Harry. But there was no denying that the intensity of Tom's rage was having an effect on him.

Tom stalked forward until he had Harry pressed up against the wall, pinning Harry in place with his hands on either side of Harry's neck and the expression on his face.

"How many people, Harry?" Tom hissed, his face close enough that Harry could feel Tom's breath across his face. "How many? How many to I have to kill? How many times did I nearly lose you?"

Harry swallowed, and Tom let out a wordless snarl of rage, pulling away to run his hands through his hair. He stalked around his room once, twice, before he was back, pressing Harry against the wall.

"Never again," he all but growled. "You hear me? No one is going to touch you again. And I'm going to make everyone who _dared_ lay a hand on you regret it."

Tom leaned down, pressing a kiss to Harry's lips that was more teeth and fury than anything else. Harry opened his mouth with a groan, reaching out to fist his hand in Tom's no doubt ridiculously expensive shirt. Everything after that was a blur a bit of a blur, until Harry found himself once again shirtless on Tom's bed, Tom hovering over Harry, kissing Harry as if he was trying to consume him

Tom pulled away, his hand resting on Harry's chest. His cheeks were red, his normally perfect hair nearly as bad as Harry's normally was. His eyes were still wild, the feral thing that lurked behind Tom's perfect masks completely exposed. But Tom was in control of himself again, now. Where before there had only been ferocity, there now lurked the light of reason as well.

"I cannot lose you," Tom said at last. "I will not lose you. Do you understand me?"

Harry reached up and wrapped his hand around Tom's own, pressing it harder against his chest.

"I'm right here, Tom," Harry reassured him, reaching out with his other hand to brush Tom's hair back from his face, a lock having escaped onto his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise you."

Tom only response was to reach out and yank Harry up against him, holding him almost painfully tight as Tom buried his face in Harry's hair. Harry reached out and ran a hand up and down Tom's back, wanting to help soothe his friend as much as possible. Harry listened as Tom's breath gradually shifted from harsh pants to purposefully deep, tightly controlled breaths to something more natural.

When he was confident Tom was mostly back in control, Harry pulled back to look up into those stormy gray eyes. He was in control now, thank god, though Harry could see his darker side lurking close to the surface.

This was going to be hard enough to relive. Harry honestly didn't know if he could get through it. There was no way he could get through it with Tom consumed by his more savage side.

"Tom..." Harry began slowly, "I...I want to tell you. I want you to know. But..." Harry took a deep breath. "I'm going to need you to get through this. I don't think I'll be able to get through this without you."

"I'm with you," Tom said, reaching out and cupping Harry's face with his hands. "Of course I'm with you, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes, reaching out and wrapping one of his hands around Tom's wrist, taking a deep breath. Just thinking about what was coming had his stomach in knots. It was hard enough living through it once. Talking about it was going to be excruciating. But Tom deserved to know, and Harry wanted to be the one who told Tom what had happened.

Tom was going to be livid. Tom was going to be enraged, and Harry didn't think he could handle that. Not now.

Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, Harry opened his eyes, to find Tom staring down at him in obvious concern.

"What do you need?" Tom asked, running his thumb along Harry's cheekbone. "Tell me what you need, Harry."

"I need..." Harry took another deep breath, trying to get himself together. "Tom, I'm not going to be able to get through this if you lose your temper. I just...I can't. I need you."

Tom stared at him for a long moment before he leaned down and pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to Harry's lips.

"Anything for you," Tom said, staring down at Harry intently. "Anything, Harry."

Harry nodded, swallowing around the knot in his throat. Tom studied him intently for a moment before reaching out and gently pushing Harry down on his bed. Tom knelt, and Harry had to avert his eyes, his mouth dry and his skin heating from the image of Tom on his knees. Now was absolutely not the time to get distracted by exactly how attractive his...by how attractive Tom was.

Tom hands wrapped around his ankle, his long fingers pulling apart the knot in Harry's laces before gently easing the shoe off his foot. Harry had to close his eyes, fighting down the rush of arousal that made it's way through him. Tom was just taking his shoes off. His reaction was completely ridiculous, and totally out of proportion. But there was something almost terrifyingly intimate about it. About how Tom Riddle, a boy who thought himself better than anyone else, grown to a man who _knew_ it to be true, had gotten on his knees for Harry. How Tom had done something most people would consider degrading, without being asked, all for Harry. And he hadn't even hesitated.

Thankfully, for Harry's sake at least, Tom rose gracefully to his full hight once again, settling onto the bed beside Harry before he reached out, pulling Harry with him. When they'd been arranged to Tom's satifaction, Harry found himself bracketed between Tom's legs, his back pressed up against Tom's chest, Tom's arms wrapped around him.

"Good?" Tom asked.

"Fantastic," Harry answered.

Harry was completely surrounded by Tom. He felt warm. He felt protected. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe. Tom wasn't going to let anything hurt him.

Sighing happily in contentment, Harry let himself settle back against Tom, wrapping his hands over Tom's on his stomach.

"Tell me," Tom said.

Sighing, Harry closed his eyes to fortify himself. He took a deep breath, and then began.

* * *

The trek to Hogwarts school of Academic Excellence was a long one for Harry. It took him two days and three greyhounds to get across the country and close enough to campus that the shuttle could take him to the dorm.

The day before his freshman year at Hogwarts was due to start, Harry was sitting on his last bus, dozing in the early morning light. The bus slowed, and Harry blinked, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses and cracking his neck before looking out the window. It was just a curbside stop, which meant he wouldn't have the chance to get up and stretch his legs.

At the stop stood a gaggle of people, all with red hair. Four boys, one girl, and a woman. As the bus came to a stop, the woman hugged each of the boys tightly, her eyes wet with tears. Their mother. Hugging each of the boys goodbye.

It wasn't until all the luggage was stowed and the boys began boarding the bus that Harry realized he'd been staring. He turned his attention to the book in his lap, doing his best to watch the boys from out of the corner of his eyes.

One by one they found seats, until it was only the youngest left, tall and lanky, walking further and further back in the bus looking more and more uncomfortable until at last he came to a stop beside the empty seat next to Harry.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" the boy asked. "It's just, everywhere else is full."

Harry nodded wordlessly and pulled his ratty third-hand backpack off the seat, shoving it under the seat in front of him.

The redhead sat, situating his own bag as best he could before jamming his lanky legs into the small space. Harry winced it sympathy. It didn't look comfortable at all. As soon as he was situated, he reached down to rummage in his bag, making a noise of triumph. He straighted out again, two sandwiches covered in plastic wrap in his hands.

"Corned beef," Ron muttered sadly, staring at his sandwiches. "I don't know why she does this. I hate the stuff. Recon she must have got me mixed up with George again."

He turned to Harry, holding out a sandwich.

"You want one?"

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, but he was already reaching forward.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go ahead."

Harry took the sandwich and tore the plastic wrap apart. He was starving. It had been days since he had had a proper meal, and it was all he could do to keep himself from shoving half of the sandwich into his mouth whole.

"I'm Ron, by the way," he said, holding out his hand. "Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," Harry said, reaching out to shake the other boy's hand. "Thanks for the sandwich."

Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Really, don't worry about it. You saved me from feeling guilty about throwing it away when I got to Hogwarts."

Harry sat up straighter.

"Hogwarts?"

"Academy of academic excellence," Ron said. "Preppy private school. My parents went there, all my brothers have gone, and Ginny's going to be going next year."

"What's it like?" Harry asked.

The rest of the five hour bus ride flew by, the two trading stories back and forth. By the time the bus finally pulled into their stop, Harry and Ron were joined at the hip. and stayed that way throughout their time at Hogwarts.

They ended up in the same house - Gryffindor, and shared a suite with the other freshman boys who'd been given the same assignment. When they arrived, the single had been taken by a shy, plump boy named Neville, but the two doubles were still open. Harry hesitated, but it seemed like Ron hadn't noticed, walking past him to one of the empty rooms. Harry stayed in the hallway, struggling with exactly what he was supposed to do. Should he follow Ron? Did the other boy think he was too pathetic to want to spend any more time with?

"Hey," Ron said, sticking his head around the doorframe. "Do you want top bunk or bottom?"

Harry smiled, relief washing through him as he adjusted his grip on his backpack.

"Top," he answered. He was tired of being tucked away in tight places.

There were two other names on the door to the suite, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. Dean was a tall, dark skinned boy with a friendly smile. Seamus was a short, pale freckled firecracker of energy. As soon as they met, they got on like a house on fire. They all spent some time together in the sitting room of their dorm, awkwardly trying to get to know each other.

That night, Harry started up at the ceiling for hours, excitement to strong to let him fall asleep. For the first time in his life, he was free from his past. No one knew him as a troublemaker or a delinquint. Harry could earn his own reputation now, not have one foisted on him by the Dursleys.

For the first time since he had lost Tom, Harry felt like the really had a chance.

Breakfast the next morning was almost overwhelming, all of the house crammed into a few long benches in the attached dinning hall. They boys claimed one table for themselves. Staring around the room, it was easy for Harry to spot the freshman girls. They were all sitting together, just like the boys, each of them looking awestruck and awkward.

Their head of house was a huge giant of a man named Rebus Hagrid. Harry had met him the night before, when he'd dropped by to see how they were all settling in. He welcomed them all awkwardly before dismissing them table by table to grab food, coming around and passing out schedules while they all cycled through the kitchen, collecting their breakfast.

Throughout his first day, Harry met other people both in his house and outside it. For the most part, they shared their classes with the freshman of one of the other houses. Harry imagined it was to expose them to other students, while still having their house as a support system.

He met many people that first day of classes, but there were two in particular who made a lasting impression.

The first was Draco Malfoy. The boy had taken one look at Ron and sneered, and Harry had hated him instantly. That hatred only grew when he opened his mouth and began scoffing about the scholarship students. Ron flushed a furious red, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes fixed on the ground.

It took everything in his power not to walk over and deck the boy. Still, his time had taught him better. He didn't have to like Malfoy, but there was no point in making an enemy of him either. At least, there was no point in letting Malfoy *know* he considered him an enemy.

So Harry had replied with a snide comment. One sharp enough to keep Malfoy from saying anything else, but not so pointed as to make Malfoy aware of exactly how much of Harry's animosity he had earned.

After a week had passed, Harry snuck into the Slytherin dorms and placed red dye in his hair care products. Malfoy's cheeks were the same shade as his hair the second week of classes. And he'd annoyed enough people during the first that most were perfectly happy to mock him openly for it.

The results had been even better than Harry had expected. His white-blond hair held the dye beautifully, and it took almost two weeks for the stuff, which was supposed to last a day or two at most, to wash out.

The perpetrator of the prank was something of a celebrity on campus. But for all the acclaim, Harry didn't step forward. He was perfectly content to remain in the shadows, happy to play off his own smirk as admiring someone else's handywork.

The only person Harry had told was Ron, who been equal parts awed and annoyed that he hadn't been included. Harry had promise to ask for Ron's help the next time he played a prank, and that seemed to placate him. But even though he had sworn Ron to secrecy, his brothers, Fred and George, kept giving him speculative glances, smiling with approval whenever they noticed him looking.

The other stare he was subject to was far more suspicious and far less admiring. It came from the second person who had caught Harry's attention that semester.

Hermione Granger was one of the most brilliant students in the school. She always had her hand in the air, straining to answer a question. She always recited much more than the teacher had requested, usually to the teacher's great delight.

Harry was intrigued, but he wasn't as impressed as everyone else. He'd grown up with Tom, after all. Tom, who wasn't just brilliant, but able to expand on whatever it was he was reading, make intuitive jumps. The books were a tool to Tom, a mere starting place. Hermione was still far to chained to them. She couldn't make intuitive leaps, couldn't generalize or come to conclusions if she hadn't seen the material before. She was formulaic in her approach, sounding as if she'd swallowed a book instead of synthesizing the information the way Tom would, the way Harry could.

Ron hated her. He called her names, attacking her for her tendency to have a book in her nose at all times, and her strict adherence to the rules.

"It's no wonder nobody likes her," Ron fumed on halloween, after he'd been assigned to work with her for the period in their English class. "Bossy little know it all like that, who'd want to spent time with her?"

There was a sharp inhale behind them, and then Hermione brushed past them, head bowed, walking as fast as her legs would carry her. Not fast enough to keep harry from hearing the hitch in her breathing as she did, not fast enough to stop him from seeing how bright her eyes were.

"You don't think she heard me, do you?" Ron asked him.

Harry just gave him a hard look in response.

Ron slumped his shoulders and leaned against the nearest bank of lockers.

"She wasn't crying, was she? I didn't mean to make her cry," Ron said timidly. "Not that she doesn't deserve it, mind you. Not with the way she's always showing off, correcting everyone."

"Ron," Harry said, leveling him with a look.

His friends shoulder's slumped, what was left of his righteous indignation leaving as he heaved a heavy sigh.

"I just...she makes me feel so *stupid*," he said.

Harry grew angry. No one insulted his friend. Not ever Ron himself.

"You're not stupid," Harry said sharply. "I mean that. You're just not the same kind of smart Hermione is. Books can be useful and important, but they aren't everything. Who is it who makes sure we win every contest in P.E.?" Harry asked.

"Me," Ron began "but..."

"Who absolutely kicks ass at our D&D games?" Harry asked him again.

"Me," Ron said.

"You forget the dates, but you know all the details of the battles we cover in history," Harry said, ignoring Ron's protests. "You're one of the best in the class at math, because you ignore all the extra stuff and attack the problem directly. You have trouble with the formulas, yeah, but half the time you can get yourself there without them. Don't sell yourself short, Ron. You're a brilliant strategist, and an excellent problem solver. There's more to smarts than books, understand?"

"Yeah," Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, a blush on his cheeks and a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, alright. I get it Harry. Really, I do."

"Good," Harry said shortly.

Ron let hand fall and heaved out a sigh, leaning back agains the lockers and looking up at the ceiling.

"I should go apologize to Hermione, shouldn't I?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah, I think you probably should."

"Where do you think she went?" Ron asked.

"Pavarti or Lavender would know," Harry said.

Ron groaned.

"I hate talking with them. They're so...giggly."

"Well, you should have thought of that before you made Hermione cry in the first place," Harry said simply.

Pavarti and Lavender were both in the dining hall, and for all they were by no means fans of Hermione themselves, that didn't stop them from glaring at Ron as soon as they set their eyes on them.

"It's a good thing looks can't kill," Ron muttered under his breath.

Harry nodded in agreement. If they could, Ron would be nothing but a smoking crater in the floor.

"What do _you_ want?" Lavender snapped at them as they approached the table.

"Do you know where Hermione is?" Ron asked.

"Why?" Pavarti asked. "You want to make her cry again?"

Ron gaped at that, and Harry stepped in before things could get out of hand.

"He wants to apologize," Harry said simply. "Can you tell us where she is?"

They both stared at him for a long moment, as if they could somehow tell how sincere he was being by peering into his eyes. Harry stood there, doing his best to project his genuine desire to help Ron find Hermione.

"She's in the girls bathroom near the far end of the English wing," Pavarti said, relenting at last.

"Where she's been since English let out an hour ago," Lavender said snottily.

Ron opened his mouth, but Harry grabbed him by the elbow before things had the chance to devolve any further.

"We'd better not waste anymore time, then," Harry said simply.

He practically dragged Ron away from the table, though it didn't prevent him from reaching out and pocketing a sandwich as they walked past. Old habits, and all that.

It was when they were walking down the English hall when the heard it. A low, growling noise, echoing through the hall.

"What is that?" Harry asked, jerking his head around in search of the source. "I mean, it sounds almost like a dog."

"That's no dog," Ron said, his voice trembling, his hand latching onto Harry's sleeve.

Harry spun around so he was facing the same way as Ron, only to freeze in his tracks.

Ron was right. That was no dog. It was far, far too big to be a dog. It was huge, with long, unnaturally sharp white teeth. It was covered in dark, thick fur, and the snarl it let out had the hair rising on the back of Harry's neck.

"What do we do?" Ron whispered frantically.

The monster dog burst into menacing barks, bolting forwards and eating up the ground between them at an incredible pace.

"Run!" Harry shouted, already turning.

It was all the prompting Ron needed, turning and running beside him. Still, for all that his friend had a head start, Harry could already see the gap between them widening. Ron was built more for distance, whereas Harry had perfected the art of sprinting long ago. If they kept going like this, the dog would attack him. Harry was sure of it.

He couldn't let that happen.

There. A door.

"Ron!" Harry shouted, pointing.

Ron nodded and changed direction, sprinting towards the door, while Harry slowed to a stop, just next to the door, and turned to face the dog still sprinting at them. This was a bad idea, Harry though as the beast came towards him. Such a bad, bad idea. Still, it was the only one he had.

Ron yanked open the door, and Harry pulled the sandwich out of his pocket, throwing a piece of meat at the dog. He watched as the dog approached the meat, sniffing at it for a moment before he snapped it up with jaws that would have no trouble ripping through Harry's flesh.

Harry wasted no time. He doubted the dog would be distracted for long.

"Now!" he yelled.

Ron yanked open the door, and Harry tossed in the sandwich. The dog darted after it, and Ron slammed the door as soon as the dog was through. He blocked the door with his body, holding it shut.

"Find something!" Ron shouted.

Harry darted into the nearest classroom, dragging the nearest student table out of the classroom and across the hall. Ron met him halfway and they shoved it up against the door.

Panting, adrenaline coursing through him, Harry leaned heavily against the desk. He turned and faced Ron to find his friend grinning. Ron held up his hand and Harry leaned over to give him a high five. They'd done it, Harry though giddily. They'd actually done it. They'd done it and survived.

"Holy shit," Ron said. "God, my heart is still pounding. I can't _believe_ we just did that."

Harry just nodded wordlessly.

"We should...we should call somebody," Ron said. "Let them know what's happening. Do you have a cell phone?"

Harry gave Ron a look. They were close friends at this point, and had been living in each other's pockets for two months at this point. Ron had seen his ratty, oversized clothes. The fact that the uniform was included in the cost of admission was the only thing that kept the rest of the school from knowing the same. He knew exactly how many possessions Harry had, and he knew that a cellphone wasn't among them.

"Right," Ron said. "Stupid question. What the hell do I do?"

"The classroom's have phones," Harry pointed out.

"You stay here," Ron said. "I'll go call security."

Before he had the chance, a scream rent the air. They looked at each other with horrified faces before they turned around.

The bathroom. The girl's bathroom, at the end of the English wing. The girl's bathroom they'd just locked the dog from hell in.

"Hermione," they both said at once.

Ron yanked the table out of he way, and Harry jerked the door open. He ran into the bathroom, Ron hot on his heels.

"Hermione?" Harry yelled, Ron's voice echoing the same cry a fraction of a second later.

"Harry? Ron?" she shouted, her voice bouncing around the room.

Harry took in the scene before him as quickly as he could. Hermione was standing on the bathroom counter, her back pressed up agains the mirror, standing awkwardly in the small space between two sinks. The dog was on the floor in front of her, snarling and barking, sharp teeth snapping, jumping up and down in an effort to get at her.

"We're coming, Hermione," Harry called out.

Taking a deep breath, he sprinted to the other side of the bathroom as fast as he could. The dog saw him and turned, snarling and lunging for him as he made his way past. Harry felt something tugging on his trousers, and then there was a loud tearing noise as a large section of cloth tore out of his pants.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

There was no pain, and no blood, but seeing what those teeth could do up close and personal was terrifying. If the dog had gotten a grip on his leg instead of snagging the hem of his pants, he'd be missing a chuck of flesh from his left now. He was certain of it.

The dog's attention was fully on him now, ignoring Hermione. There was a low growling noise, and Harry cast around desperately for something, _anything_ to use as a weapon. Finding nothing, he braced his back against the wall, ready to kick the thing once it got close. He just hoped he'd surprise it enough that it wouldn't try to go for his leg in the process.

"Hey!" Ron called. "Over here, you mangey monster."

Ron threw a basket of paper towels at the dog's head, which did an excellent job of getting it's attention.

The dog rounded on him, but before it could attack, Hermione threw a bottle of soap at it's head. Harry spotted Hermione's bag on the counter a few feet in front of him and he darted forward, grabbing it and pulling back just as the dog rounded on him. He reached inside and grabbed the first thing his fingers touched, throwing it at the dog. Their math textbook landed with a thud across the dog's back and it whimpered in pain.

Then suddenly Ron there, straddling the dog and pinning it down with his weight. It was forced down to the ground, Ron's legs far enough away that it couldn't bite him, no matter how hard he tried.

"Go call security," Ron ordered, his face grim with determination as the dog tried in vein to buck him off.

Hermione sunk down to a sitting position on the sink, face pale and hands trembling. She wouldn't be able to help, Harry was certain. Harry didn't want to leave them alone. Not Ron with the dog or Hermione, clearly in shock.

Hermione, though, was the type to have a cellphone. It would never be on in class, Harry was certain, but she would always have it on her. Just in case of emergencies. Like, say, being attacked by a giant, vicious dog.

Harry fished around in her bag, half an eye on both Ron and Hermione as he did so. Finally he found it, tucked away in a side pocket. It seemed like the phone took a small eternity to start, but at last it rang out with a cheery tune as the name of the carrier flashed across the screen. Harry thumbed his way over to contacts as quickly as he could, fingers slipping in his haste. Eventually he pulled them open, and was grateful not to have misjudged Hermione. Security was there, in her contacts.

Harry called them, holding the phone up to his ear with shaking hands, explaining in and unsteady voice what had happened and where they were. He ignored the security guard's barked questions and instead closed the phone, throwing it back in Hermione's bag before he dropped it to the ground. Harry took several deep breaths, white teeth flashing behind his eyes before he forced them open again.

"Is everyone alright?" Harry asked. "Hermione?"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice shaking somewhat. "I'm fine," she repeated again, more firmly this time. "I jumped on the sink while it was distracted, and it couldn't reach me. It ripped my stockings, but that's it."

"Ron?" Harry asked, turning to face his friend.

"I'm alright," he said. "I've got a good grip on it, so it shouldn't get away again. What the hell is this thing?" he asked, turning to face them both with wide, wild eyes.

"It looks..." Hermione said slowly. "It looks almost like a wolf."

Harry jerked his head back around to face the animal Ron had pinned. A wolf? Sure not. Wolves weren't native to the area, and how the hell would one have gotten into the school, anyway?

Harry shook off Hermione's comment , turning his attention to Ron.

"You sure you don't need any help?" Harry asked, nodding towards the pinned animal.

"Nah," Ron said, shifting a little before settling again. "I got it. Better not throw another person into the mix until we have to."

"Right," Harry said. "Excellent."

And then he slid down the wall until his ass hit the bathroom floor, beyond caring about the damp that began to seem into his patns.

"What on earth are you two doing here?" Hermione asked, lowering herself so she was sitting on the counter.

"Ron has something to say to you," Harry replied primly.

Hermione turned her attention to Ron.

"I'm sorry," he said, managing to look somewhat abashed, even while kneeling on what Harry refused to believe was a wolf. "I just...I wasn't understanding and the way you were trying to explain it didn't make sense to me. I'm sorry."

Hermione stared at him, her expression frozen, blinking once, twice before she spoke.

"I think, given the way things panned out, I can forgive you. In fact, I think _I_ should be thanking _you_."

"No," Ron said, his ears turning red. "I mean, it's our fault this thing went after you in the first place."

"If you hadn't been here..." Hermione began to protest.

Harry looked back and forth between the two of the burst out laughing. The situation was just so absurd. Ron looked at him and began guffawing, and Hermione's laughter wasn't far behind.

When the security guard arrived five minutes later, he took in the scene and stared at them all gobsmacked.

It only made them laugh harder.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hot off the presses, so there are sure to be issues. Also, thanks to all my supporters, who are the reason that this fic was updated. There's not a lot of Tom in this chapter, but I promise next chapter will be all Tom and Harry.**

* * *

Tom arms had tightened around Harry to an almost painful point as Harry described his first few months at Hogwarts. Still, he'd kept silent, given Harry space to tell his tale. The story of the founding of his friendship with Hermione was the tipping point, as Harry had known it would be. Tom had growled at points, had snarled, but only now did he speak.

"A wolf?" he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "There was a wolf lose in your school?"

"A wolfdog," Harry answered, tilting his head back so that it rested on Tom's shoulder and staring up at the ceiling. "Animal control figured it out once they came in to take it away."

"A wolfdog," Tom corrected, his voice like ice. "A wolfdog that attacked you."

It had been Hagrid who had come to take control of the dog while they waited for animal control. His experience with animals and his large stature had made him the best choice. When animal control had come to take the dog away, Hagrid had shaken his head in disgust.

"It ain't right, what they did to that dog," he said. "Took a beautiful animal and turned him into a weapon, is what they did."

Animal control had agreed. The wolfdog had been trained. They were incredibly lucky, they were told, that they had immerged unscathed. The dog could and would have killed them, if given the chance.

"It had been trained as an attack dog. It's teeth were filed down," Harry said. That would be enough for Tom to put the pieces together without Harry having to go through everything again.

Tom's grip tightened, and Harry let out an involuntary hiss of pain as his nails dug into Harry's stomach. Tom stopped at once, but Harry could feel how stiff the man was behind him. Stiff and trembling with barely contained rage.

"Who do I have to kill, Harry?" Tom said.

For the first time in his life, Harry found himself relieved about how things had unfolded.

"No one," Harry said simply. "He's already dead."

Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat in the Gryffindor House common room, tucked away in the corner to minimize the chance of being overheard. They'd been hounded by people of all houses since the "incident", as the faculty liked to call it. Ron was calling it "that one time we all almost got eaten by a giant hybrid." Incident was far shorter, but there was no denying that Ron's description was more accurate. Everyone wanted to hear the story, wanted to know every detail about what had happened.

Harry hadn't liked being the in spotlight, and Hermione found the implications that she was a damsel in need of recusing infuriating. Ron had loved the attention, but after being hounded at all hours, it was starting to wear thin even for him. They were all eager for a chance to just talk about what had happened.

"Something isn't right," Hermione said. "About that...the wolfdog. Something isn't right."

"Of course something isn't right," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. "The thing tried to eat us."

"That's just it," Hermione replied. "I mean, someone had to train that animal. A hybrid, which couldn't have been easy to acquire, trained to attack. That animal had a purpose."

Harry saw where she was going at once.

"Which raises the question, what was it doing in the school?" Harry asked.

"Exactly," Hermione said.

Harry sat back and ran his hand through his hair. It was a good question. Hermione was exactly right. Someone had trained that dog to do something. The question was, what?

"Maybe someone holds a grudge against the school?" Ron offered.

Harry shook his head.

"No, if they wanted to hurt students, then there are easier ways to do that. Ways that would ensure more students got hurt. Again, there are much better ways. This will be a small scandal, yeah, but something the school should have no trouble recovering from."

They all sat there in silence.

"What kind of thing would you need an attack dog for?" Harry mused aloud.

"To attack someone," Ron offered.

Hermione gave him an unimpressed look, but a quick glare from Harry kept her from saying anything. It might have sounded unhelpfully, but Harry knew better. Ron was trying to process, to kick start his brain.

"Dog fighting rings," Hermione offered.

Harry shook his head.

"There would have been old injuries then. Scars."

The pieces started to come together for him.

"No. No, that dog was trained to attack people, not other dogs. Which means that it was probably meant to be someone's personal weapon. The kind of thing to make people who dealt with them afraid."

There were only so many kinds of personal that could apply to. Criminals, all of them. The kind who tended to make people they didn't like disappear for good.

Harry shared as much, and watched his friend's faces turn grim.

"But was it guarding someone, or something?" Hermione asked.

Harry blinked, surprised. The kinds of people he was thinking of wouldn't hesitate to have a deadly security system.

"That makes sense," Harry said. "That makes a lot of sense. It's not someone's personal weapon. It's part of a security system."

"But how did it end up here?" Hermione asked, sounding frustrated. "That's the part that still doesn't make sense."

"Yes it does," Ron said, an understanding slowly dawning on his face. "It makes perfect sense."

When both Harry and Hermione gave him blank looks, he grew even more excited.

"Think about it. Hogwarts has a huge campus, and acres and acres of woods. Just off the English wing. If someone was up to something they didn't want anyone noticing, something illegal, that would be the perfect place for it."

"The forest is huge," Hermione said.

"Not to mention that the school has a lot of big names as alumni," Harry continued the train of thought. "I mean, can you imagine the kind of fuss the parents would throw if anyone even thought about searching the school? And these are people with serious clout and political connections." He shook his head in disbelief. "You're right, Ron. It's perfect."

"Perfect for what, though?" Ron asked.

"Help!" someone screamed. "Someone, help!"

Harry jerked his head around and found one of the older Gryffindor students running frantically into the common room, eyes wide with fear.

"Help me!" the student begged.

Harry stood, Ron and Hermione hot on his heels, determined to see what was going on. By the time they arrived, there was a small circle of students surrounding the junior, and Harry could only catch glimpses of his frantic face as a chorus of voices demanded to know what was wrong.

"What's all this then?" Hagrid asked, pushing his way easily to the other

The junior looked up at Hagrid with tear-filled eyes.

"It's Matthew, sir," the boy answered, his voice trembling. "Something...something isn't right."

That was all it took for Hagrid to take off at a loud run up the stairs towards the junior's suite. The crowd all exchanged looks, wondering what, if anything they should do. Several of them had settled on doing their best to interrogate the boy who had raised the disturbance in the first place.

"I don't know," the boy answered his voice shaking almost as hard as his body was. "One minute he was-and then he just...his eyes went blank and he fell over."

"Someone call 911, now," Hagrid barked down the stairwell. "Use the house phone. When they're on their way, call Poppy and get her over here in the meantime."

Matthew Pent had been rushed to the hospital in a coma. Drugs, the word slowly spread. An overdose, everyone whispered. And then it happened again. And again. Once a month, almost like clockwork. It seemed to be random. The only thing the students had in common was the insistence of everyone who knew them that they would never touch drugs.

The school was cracking down, searching rooms and lockers at regular intervals. But it wasn't enough. They weren't listening the students, everyone waving off their concern. Friends, they said, are often the last to know.

Harry knew better. And he wasn't just going to sit around and let this happen. If no one else would do anything, then he would. No matter what it took.

Which was how he found himself meeting Draco Malfoy in the boathouse at midnight, two hours after curfew.

"Potter," Malfoy said, as Harry emerged from behind one of the boats. "I have to say, I thought this might all be part of some elaborate trap.

"That's more your speed than mine, Malfoy," Harry replied with an eyeroll, thinking of the fight Malfoy had tried to goad him into shortly after the hair incident. Harry had refused to be baited. It had been so obvious it was a trap that Harry honestly found the attempt insulting.

"What do you want?" Malfoy snapped.

"Who's your connection on campus?" Harry asked.

Malfoy sniffed derisively in response.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

It was a good attempt. It probably would have been successful, if he'd tried it with anyone else. Malfoy had an excellent poker face. But Harry had grown up with a master manipulator. Harry wasn't easily full.

"Your drug connection," Harry said instead. "I know you have one."

"I have never taken illegal drugs in my life," Malfoy said, outraged.

Harry was surprised to find it was genuine. Still, he knew Malfoy was on something. Just because it wasn't coke didn't mean he didn't have someone. Prescription drugs, if he had to bet.

"Taking prescription drugs without a prescription counts Malfoy."

The boy's aborted flinch let him know he was right. ADD meds, probably. Trying to get an edge. Hermione was the top of every class, after all, and it obviously didn't sit well with Malfoy to be beaten by someone without blue blood.

"Campus this small, there's only going to be one person," Harry said with a shrug.

"You in the market, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry shook his head.

"No. I just want to talk to them. Find out what they can tell me about what's happening. I don't care about the dealing. I just want to know what the stuff it cut with."

Whatever it was, the doctor's were fairly certain it was what was causing the comas. Bloodwork couldn't identify it. As far as the doctor's could figure though, it was the only hope they had of maybe bringing everyone back. They'd need to know what it was, know how it worked, to know if it could be cured.

Malfoy snorted.

"You won't be getting that from my connection," Malfoy said with an eye roll.

"Why not?" Harry asked, arms crossed.

"Because there's no way in hell those scholarship kids could afford to pay the prices she charges."

Harry froze, the pieces coming together.

"Scholarship kids," Harry said. "They were all scholarship kids."

"Which explains it, as far as I'm concerned. They can't afford to buy the good stuff."

Harry ignored him.

"Scholarship students. The kids without parents in high places. Parents who would push hard and throw money and yank connections until they had an answer. No, just the scholarship students. The ones no one cares about except their parents. The kind who could die, and nobody important would kick up a fuss. Kids who don't matter," Harry said.

"What are you on about Potter?" Malfoy said.

Harry ignored him. Instead, Harry ran past, giving Malfoy a friendly pat on the shoulder as he did.

God, it was so obvious. How hadn't he figured it out before? Harry shook his head at his own foolishness, sprinting across the grounds, not caring if he got caught. No, he needed to tell someone. He needed to tell them as quickly as possible. Before anyone else got hurt.

He saw Ron standing outside, staring down the road. Looking for him, if Harry had to guess. He'd told Ron what he was doing, but hadn't brought him with him because Ron would have antagonized Malfoy enough that they'd never had gotten anything out of him. Still, for all that Ron had agreed, there had been a glint in his eye. One that made it clear he'd be following Harry come hell or high water. So Harry had waited until Ron had gone to shower, and then snuck out while he had the chance. Ron would be pissed, but it was worth it. Malfoy had given him the answer, even if the boy didn't know it himself.

"Ron!" Harry shouted, running over and grabbing his friend's shoulders. "Ron, I've figured it out! I know what's happening!"

Then he caught sight of Ron's face and froze.

"Ron?" Harry asked cautiously. "Ron, what's wrong?"

"It's Percy," Ron answered. "They just took him to the hospital. Same as all the others."

Harry blinked at him, shocked. Percy was one of Ron's older brothers, a prefect for the dorm. He was painfully by the book, responsible to a fault, and terribly, terribly ambitious. He had his sights set on politics. Harry had heard him reaming Fred and George out about how their irresponsible actions reflected on the family as a whole. He would sooner die than touch drugs of any kind.

Ron looked at Harry with desperate eyes.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me who did this. Tell me how to help Percy. He's an utter ponce, but he's my brother. I...I don't..."

Ron's eyes were shining brightly, and Harry didn't know what do to. He didn't have any experience in consoling people. Still, Harry knew he needed to say something.

"I'm here," Harry said simply, reaching out to place a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm here, Ron."

Ron sniffed loudly, rubbing furiously at his eyes before he squared his shoulders, jaw clenched.

"Tell me," Ron said, his eyes blazing. "Tell me what happened to my brother."

"I think someone is poisoning the scholarship students with drugs," Harry said.

Detective Alistor Moody Stared at him as if he were crazy.

"Come again?" Detective Moody asked.

Harry couldn't exactly blame him,. It did sound more than a little crazy. Ron and Hermione were both on the other side of the hospital waiting room along with the rest of the Weasley's. They'd come to pick Ron up, since the twins had gone with Percy in the ambulence. Mr. Weasley's face had been wan, while was red and wet with tears. She'd wrapped Ron in a hug as soon as she'd seen him, tears dripping down her face as she wept.

"It's going to be alright," she whispered, rocking back and forth on her feet as she stroked Ron's hair. "This is something else. I know it. And Percy will pull through. He's too stubborn to do anything else."

Harry wasn't sure if she was trying to reassure Ron or herself. Still, looking at the two of them, Harry knew that he couldn't do nothing. So he walked over to tell Mrs. Weasley how sorry he was, only to be pulled into the hug himself. Harry returned the embrace, determined to give comfort to the woman who had first shown him what famiy was really supposed to be like. Ron had dragged Harry home with him for Christmas, and while it had been much simpler than the giant spectacle the Dursley's put together, there was no question in Harry's mind that it was the best Christmas anyone could ask for. Ever since, she'd insisted on talking to him as well during her weekly phone call to Ron, and whenever his roommate got a care package, Harry did as well.

Harry would do whatever it took to return the kindness. And Percy was an ass, but, well...he looked out for them, in his own way. Harry was going to make sure that he and all the others pulled through. So as soon as the detective arrived, Harry had gone over and pulled the man aside.

"Someone is testing drugs on the scholarship students," Harry said again, doing his best to remain calm. He knew it sounded ridiculous, but he knew he was right. "Every single student who's landed in the hospital because of whatever this drug is has been a scholarship student. They could never afford the sorts of drugs your considering."

"Listen, kid," the detective said gently, "an addict...they'll do whatever it takes to get the cash they need. If those kids were hooked..."

"But they weren't!" Harry insisted. "If they were, *someone* would have know, but no one on campus does."

Harry laid out the rest of it as patiently as he could. The wolfdog attack earlier in the year, and how he and his friends had decided it was gaurding something on campus. A drug facility, he was fairly certain. The timing of the overdoses, the people they targeted.

"I think someone is testing a new recipe or maybe even a whole new drug on the students," Harry said again.

The detective looked at him, all traces of amusement gone.

"It's just a theory, kid," the detective said. "It's a hell of a theory, a bizarre conspiracy. I would need some kind of evidence to justify going forward."

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair, holding onto his temper by the skin of his teeth.

"There are tests you can do, right? To see how long someone has been taking drugs?"

The man gave him a thoughtful look.

"We'd need to get permission from parents to run those tests, and the results would take weeks to come in," the man said. "Still..." he trailed off, blue eyes darting around almost crazily before he gave Harry a firm nod. "We've hit a dead end. We'll take any lead we can get."

That said, the gruff, scared detective jerked his head towards the Weasleys.

"Let me worry about the case. You worry about your friend."

Of course. Of course the officer wouldn't listen. They never did. Harry had tried to tell his friends that there wasn't any point, but they hadn't listened. They'd insisted. It had been nothing but a waste of time. Time Percy didn't have.

Harry walked over and sat down across from Ron and Hermione, shaking his head in answer to their hopeful looks.

Hermione, lover of rules that she was, looked crestfallen. Still, it was Ron who worried Harry most. He didn't look upset, he looked defeated.

"What do we do?" Hermione asked in a concerned voice. "I mean, you're right. You're absolutely right. But what do we do?"

One thought for the rest of the scholarship students who might never wake up, one look at Ron facing the possibility of losing his brother was enough for Harry to have his answer.

"The police need evidence, right?" Harry said.

Hermione nodded, giving him a wary look.

"Then let's go get some evidence."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all peered through the trees at the building before them. It had taken them hours of wandering through the woods in the dark, but finally they'd found it. Calling it a building was perhaps a little generous. It looked like it had once been a garage of some sort, big enough for two cars and a handful of storage. The roof was made of rusted metal, the concrete walls were crumbling, and the doors to the two car bays looked like they hadn't moved in decades.

Still, for an abandoned building, it was teeming with life. It was nearly two in the morning, but Harry could still make out the silhouette of someone standing by the only door. In the moonlight, the outline of several dogs was visible, and Harry shuddered, thinking of the last time they'd run into the animals.

Harry set his mouth in a grim line before turning back to his friends.

"We need to get in that building," Harry said was surprised when he was met with only grim nods. He'd been expecting Hermione, at least, to want to call the police now that they finally had something to show them. Apparently his conversation with the detective had done more to disillusion her than he'd thought.

"What do we do?" she asked instead.

"I'll lead the dog's away," Ron said. "You two get up in that tree and make a run for it once the cost is clear."

"No," Harry said sharply. "We saw what one of those things could do. A whole pack would have no trouble tearing you apart."

"Harry," Ron said seriously, "dogs like that? The only way to get them away from what they're guarding is to give them something to chase. I'll get them to follow me and then get up a tree. That should not only clear the way for you two, but it'll also pull people away too."

His jaw was clenched stubbornly, and Harry knew there would be no changing his mind. Ron was much too pigheaded for that. Harry heaved a sigh, but he nodded. It was the best way.

Ron pulled them both in for a tight hug before he took off into the woods. Harry began to climb the tree and hissed sharply at Hermione to do the same when she stood there, staring at the place where Ron had been. She spent one last moment staring at Ron before she began climbing up behind Harry. Harry was a practiced tree climber, and made it easily from one branch to another until he sitting comfortably on a brach about seven feet above the ground. Hermione required Harry's help and ended up settling on a lower branch, but she was soon out of the way of obvious harm. As soon as they were situated, they fixed their attention on the building, waiting.

They didn't have to wait long. Ron broke out fo the trees on the other side of the shed and darted forward. That was all it took before one of the dogs began to bark, the others not far behind. They took off into the woods after Ron, who had turned and ran back to the treeline as soon as he was certain he'd gathered enough attention. Just as Ron had hoped, the man guarding the door nearest them had taken off after the dogs, shouting for others to follow him.

Harry waited a moment after the last figure had darted into the woods to be sure that no one else was on the way out. When the door remained closed, Harry dropped out of the tree, reaching up to catch the branch to slow his fall before dropping to the ground with ease. Hermione, however, had to climb back down, and she was shaking so hard the entire time Harry was afraid she'd lose her grip.

"Come on," he said as soon as she was on the ground. "Let's make sure Ron didn't just do that for nothing."

Hermione's face was pale, but she nodded firmly in agreement.

The two dashed across the open space between the building and the treeline, Harry's body jarring with each each step as his foot connected with the ground. A moment later they were pressed against the cinderblock wall next to the door, each panting hard. Harry's heart was pounding painfully against his chest, but he ignored it. Now was not the time to be distracted by fear. Now was the time to focus.

Harry turned and tugged on the door only to come to a horrible realization. The door was locked.

"Shit," he muttered to himself, staring at the lock in front of him. "Shit, shit, shit!"

If it had just been a standard lock, Harry wouldn't have had any trouble. He'd learned to pick locks long ago, and there were enough bits of metal and other garbage around that he wouldn't have had no trouble improvising some lock picks.

But it wasn't a regular lock. It was an electronic lock. One that looked especially high end and complicated.

Stupid. Stupid. How could he have been so stupid? If they had trained attack dogs and armed guards, of course they were going to have more than a cheap hardware store lock. He should have anticipated this.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

Harry stepped back and showed her the electronic keypad that stood between them and the building.

"I can open it," Hermione said.

"What?" Harry said.

"I can open it," Hermione said. "I've been tinkering with electronics since I was three," she said. "Locks like this? They have failsafes. If there's power failure or an emergency, then the door unlocks automatically so that no one get trapped inside."

"You're going to cut power to the keypad?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"No, there's two power wires, and I only know how to find one of them. If only one was cut, it would set of an alarm."

"So what's the plan?" Harry asked her.

"I don't have anything to use to overload it," Hermione said simply. "And I'm not likely to find anything around here."

She squared her shoulder and stared him straight in the eye.

"I'm going to start a fire," Hermione said simply.

Harry stared at her, his mouth hanging open. Hermione. Straight-laced, straight A Hermione. And she was about to commit arson. And it was clear from her face that there would be no changing her mind.

"I think we've been a bad influence on you," Harry said simply.

Hermione gave a small laugh before darting forward, wrapping her arms around him.

"Once the fire gets started, I want you to get out of here," Harry told her as she hugged him. "Call the police and help Ron."

Hermione nodded against his shoulder before pulling back, giving Harry a weak smile. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the digital camera she'd gotten for christmas, handing it over to Harry.

"Be careful," she told him.

"You too," Harry said.

And then Hermione was gone, running over to the other side of the building.

Harry turned away from the door and ducked behind the corner of the building closest to the tree line, waiting. He didn't have to wait long. The woods weren't as dark as they should have been. The light grew brighter and brighter, casting flickering shadows on the the tall trees that surrounded them.

The door banged open a moment later, and Harry ducked behind the wall, listening carefully as three or four sets of footsteps made their way to the other side of the build. He waited one moment, two, his heart pounding in his ears, praying that Hermione had managed to get away before they'd come to investiage. When there were no other footsteps, Harry took a deep breath before dashing around the corner, grabbing the door handle and yanking it open before darting inside.

The sight that greeted him had his mouth dropping open. Most of the space was filled with metal tables, covered in plastic tubing, glassware, and bunsen burners. It was a mess, with large vats of chemicals stored both on and under the tables, not to mention the giant stack off to one side. The entire space was filled with the smell of ammonia, only stronger than Harry had every smelled before. It burned his nose every time he took a breath.

A meth lab. It had to be. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the camera, working his way through the space, snapping pictures, his stomach turning the entire time. When he'd take the picture of the last of the containers stacked in the corner, he stood and shoved the camera back into his pocket.

He had the evidence. More than enough to show exactly what this place had been. Scrolling back through the pictures, Harry was surprised to find several shots of men coming out of the garage. Hermione, he realized. She must have taken pictures as they were running after Ron. This would be more than enough for the police. Harry was sure of it.

Harry shoved the camera back in his pocket, reaching up to wipe the sweat off his brow. There was one more thing he needed before he could even think about leaving.

There. The table across from him. It was much cleaner than the others. More organized. Harry crossed the space over to it, sweating profusely. He looked down at the chemicals. The names were unfamiliar, which after all the different bottles he'd seen today was something of a surprise. Harry looked over the table with a careful eye, searching desperately for a sample of whatever it was that the mad scientist had been cooking up.

Harry found something even better. Under a cloth that had been tossed down, he saw the corner of something. Harry yanked the cloth off and threw it aside, revealing a notebook. Picking it up with trembling hands, struggling to pull air into his lungs, Harry opened it, flipping through the pages. Lists of materials, instructions, diagrams of chemical reactions. All of it laid out clearly in writing.

Writing that was terribly familiar.

"Potter. I should have known it was you."

Harry slowly looked up and found himself staring at Professor Quirrell, his chemistry instructor. The normally timid, unremarkable man stood on the other side of the room, his lip drawn back in a snarl.

"Professor Quirrell?" Harry said, unable to help himself.

He'd known that it must be someone on staff, but Quirrell?

The man gave him a truly unkind smile in response.

"Yes. Exactly. After all, who would expect p-p-poor, st-stuttering, P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry clenched his jaw. Of course. As a chemistry teacher, Quirrell certainly had the skills required. The meek, mild-mannered cowardly persona he put on in class would have put him beyond suspicious. He was always willing to help, after all. Working with students one-on-one, supervising sports games. Plenty of opportunities to slip the drug into a water bottle unnoticed.

"You fucker," Harry said.

"Language, Mister Potter," Quirrell tutted.

"You almost killed more than a half-dozen students!" Harry shouted, hands fisted.

"Do you really want to waste your air talking about this?" Quirrell asked him.

Harry shot him a quizzical look.

"Your friend set a fire, Mister Potter. One that my inept associates were unable to extinguish. A fire that will spread to this lab in only a matter of moments. Haven't you noticed the heat? Felt yourself sweating? Short of air? Noticed that the lighting isn't quite what it should be?" Quirrell said, pointing upwards.

Harry allowed himself only a quick darting glance, but it was enough. The lights were obscured, the ceiling of the garage covered in thick smoke.

"All the chemicals around here are flammable, Mister Potter." Quirrell said simply. "You are standing in the middle of a bomb that is just waiting to explode."

Harry grit his teeth, the flammable warning he'd seen on all the bottles flashing through his mind.

"So are you, Professor," Harry said simply.

It was true. Quirrell knew everything that was in this room, knew exactly what would happen when the fire spread. So when it had become clear that it couldn't be extinguished, why hadn't he run? Why hadn't he cut his loses? No one would be able to connect him to the crime. Not with all the evidence up in flames. The only thing that tied Quirrell to this place was his notebook, which would burn with the rest of the building.

The notebook. The one with at least a years worth of research and results in it, if not more. Quirrell had to be close to whatever it was he was trying to achieve, if he'd started testing his product on people.

"This," Harry said, staring down at the notebook in his hands. "You came back for this."

Quirrell's jaw clenched, his eyes alight with rage. It was more than answer enough.

"Hand it over, Potter," Quirrell snapped. "Hand it over, and I'll let you live."

Harry had to fight the urge to snort. If Quirrell was in charge of this operation, as Harry was beginning to suspect, then there was no way he would be walking out of here alive. Those in the drug business weren't well known for allowing witnesses to live, after all. As far as Quirrell was concerned, Harry was a dead man walking. It was just a question of how he died.

"Like hell you will," Harry said simply.

Quirrell glared at him for a moment.

"Fine. It will be easy enough to remove from your corpse."

Quirrell pulled out a gun and pointed it at Harry.

"Any last words, Potter?"

Harry was more a man of action than he was of words. He reached forward and grabbed one of the vials of chemicals off the table. As soon as it was in his hand, he threw it. Harry didn't bother to see if he had hit the mark. He took of running towards the door as soon as the glassware had left his hand.

A crash and the sound of a high pitched scream was the only sign he had that his aim had been true, and Harry allowed himself a grim smile as he ducked around and under everything that stood between him and the door.

Just as he was about to reach it, the roof collapsed in front of him, blocking the only exit.

Harry stared at it, mouth hanging open in shock.

No. Not like this. Not when he was so close to giving everyone the Professor had poisoned a chance.

Harry looked up at the hole where he was certain the ceiling had once been, smoke streaming out into the night sky. Taking a deep breath, Harry fight the urge to hack and cough. Instead he blinked hard against the stinging sensation of the smoke in his eyes before he threw the journal as hard as he could.

Harry waited with baited breath, watching as the journal disappeared into the thick grey cloud above him. When it didn't come back out, he allowed himself a smile. He just hoped it was far enough clear of the fire to survive.

Behind him there was a roar, a sudden rush of heat, and a blast of pain.

Harry knew no more.


End file.
